


Steam

by Auraspirit157



Category: Watch Dogs (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Explicit Language, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auraspirit157/pseuds/Auraspirit157
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jay B. Marcowicz lives with the gift of telekinesis, moving to Chicago after an isolated childhood. There he finds out about the Fox and is determined to find out who he truly is. (AU, Default/Aiden, you have been warned.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is quite obviously AU and it will also be quite obviously Default/Aiden. For the purposes of how I tell stories and my own personal afflictions I’m lowering both ages. But I refuse to make them the same age. Here I imagine Default in his very early twenties, perhaps twenty-two, and Aiden to be more around twenty-nine/thirty.  
> Lastly, I’m going got a Steampunk-esc AU, I decided to just state that blatantly in case some people don’t understand where I’m coming from.

 

 

Jay Marcowicz slouches idly in the carriage, the sun was low beyond the satin-lined, mahogany doors, casting shadows against his face. His hair was thin and dark, neatly trimmed to his own displeasure. He was a small, young man, skinny and agile. He remembered when he was a child his family members would call him “their little mouse” because of it. Jay had responded saying he’d rather be a rat. When asked why, he said that rats were scarier than mice, and he wanted to be scary.

He was unlike others. The young man was born with a gift, (At least he believed it was a gift) the ability to manipulate objects around him. Few were given the ability, but those rare few possessed abnormal eyes. Jay’s eyes were piercing blue, brighter than any polished crystal.

Jay glances over at his mother, an aging woman dressed in an elaborate, lacey dress with a face hardened from years of hating her son’s abilities. She denounced him ever practicing them, hell-bent on keeping him as traditionally normal as possible. Despite this, his whole life was spent in isolation, no friends, and no social events. The young psychic believed it to be the worse decision they could have ever made. Keeping him alone, with only his obnoxious family as company, it only made him want to channel his powers more. With varying degrees of success.

Almost unconsciously, Jay pulls over his satchel left on the carriage floor, retrieving several carved, wooden cubes. They were one of the many products of unadulterated boredom he had to endure during his early childhood. The cubes lift from his palm, floating in a rhythmic circle.

“Jay B. Marcowicz!”

Upon hearing the vicious snap of his full name, Jay jumps a little in his seat. However, the cubes he held up shot like rapid arrows in various directions, smacking against the walls in disharmonious clinks. He looks at his mother’s cold glare blankly.

“What?” He says in anticipation. He knew what he was about to hear.

“I’ve told you enough times. I should see none of that…magic. You need to control yourself!” She says, leaning back. There was sympathy in the back of her bitterness, even if it was _way_ back. Jay knew that she wanted to love him, but every ounce of her instinct told her to call him an outcast. This, the son could not ignore, however, didn’t at all excuse her from his frustration. She didn’t understand, he didn’t use his powers because he couldn’t control it, he used them because he _wanted_ to use them.

“Mother, tell me again where we are going?” Jay asks, not about to have the same blasted argument again, he’d rather just change the subject.

The woman smiles, clearly happy about the change. Jay would be surprised if she wasn’t tired of the exchange as well. She says, “Chicago, dear.”

Chicago. That’s right. Jay remembers his parents speaking about it to a couple of their friends. It was an enormous city, one of the first to convert after the Revolution. It was divided into five districts from richest to poorest, from the most technologically advanced to almost medieval. He thought of the stories he heard about before the Revolution, when things were different, people dressed and acted different. They didn’t cherish their Victorian ancestors, as his mother would say.

“That’s a change,” Jay speaks, “Since when did you guys like big cities?”

“We usually don’t, but your father has a fantastic job offer, and…we thought it would good for you to have a little bit more freedom,” his mother explains, “Chicago has many opportunities for a musical career.”

Jay couldn’t help but smile for a moment. If there was anything he was thankful for, it was his parents getting him into music. He could very well enjoy it more than his powers, composing, writing, listening to melodies. But there was something else he was interested in.

“What about the Fox?” Jay asks, just speaking the name made him excited. Although his mother could only look at him with worry.

“The Fox? He is just a rumor—“

“Then why has there been so much uproar about him? No, mother, he’s real. And he’s like me! I’m not stupid.”

“He’s nothing like you, Jay! He is a menace to our society. You are not a monster like him. You…you won’t be—“The mother stops, taking a moment to compose herself before continuing, “I want you to be happy here, maybe meet some friends, perhaps a nice young woman—“

“Or maybe some cute guys,” Jay interrupts with a cheeky grin. There was no point in being subtle anymore. He was way past the point of being subtle.  
His mother puts her head in her gloved hands, falling silent. Jay simply continues his grin, leaning back and watching out the window. The Fox was a legendary psychic, he’s heard stories of him going against all the new principles, stopping crime despite it. He sounds pretty damn attractive.

The rest of the trip was in an awkward silence. Jay spent his time fantasizing about the vigilante criminal. The rumors he heard were all different. Some say he was a menace, an enemy, that’s what his mother thought. Others thought he was a hero, stopping gangs and evil by any means necessary.

Whatever he was, Jay is determined to find him.

The carriage stops with a jolt in front of a rather fancy-looking apartment complex. Jay could practically feel the hot steam from the factories, the vibration of grinding gears under his feet. He could imagine the new beat in his mind, smiling.

“Jay…” His mother speaks, plucking one of his wooden cubes that had begun to float in the air, looking at him with a pointed look.

“I can’t help it,” He defends with a shrug.

The mother looks at him with a softer expression, “Why don’t you go for a walk. The Loop is a great place for wandering, I hear.”

The very proposition of his mother letting him go off on his own was stunning enough, let alone in a completely unknown city. Jay grins again, “I think I’ll do that.” He starts to leave but his mother catches his arm.

“Contacts, remember?”

Jay groans loudly, lying back on the plush carriage seat, he whines, “But those _hurt!”_

“No whining, here,” The woman hands him a contact case, “Your eyes are really easy to notice, you know.”

“I know,” Jay pouts, sticking the uncomfortable devices in his eyes. They made them look very dull. He liked his eyes, they were sexy unlike the pale contacts he had now. He takes no time jumping out of the carriage, blinking rapidly. Large, brick buildings towered around him, it smelled of gasoline and rainfall. A strange combination, but oddly, the young man was unintimidated. He walks from the carriage, taking time to look back at the horses that drove it. They were animatronic. The young man couldn’t remember the last time he saw a living, breathing horse now-a-days.

He wanders around the sidewalks, watching the crowds of people pass by him. There are so many, hundreds and hundreds of them. He has never seen so many people in one place before. Perhaps that’s because he was never able to meet people.

He finds a small café and enters curiously. He wasn’t much for eating, despite his mother’s nagging. Most of his meals consisted of granola bars and chips than anything else. However, the muffins inside the display case looked particularly amazing. He steps toward the glass, eyeing the pastries with interest. The server watches him with a smile, she was a cute girl, her hair braided tightly and a pair of goggles lifted above her forehead.

“Haven’t seen anyone like you here. Are you from out of town?” She asks.

Jay looks up, “Ah, yeah. Is it that obvious?”

The girl shrugs, “I’ve seen all kinds of people walk through here. You just seem different…”

Jay can only think to shrug in response when radio begins blaring a loud siren before quieting. The café girl plugs her ears, “I wish the emergency announcements were so obnoxious…”

Considering how the girl spoke, it sounds like these “emergency announcements” happen often. And if that were the case, it didn’t seem quite so urgent. Regardless, Jay listens in.

“This is a ctOS security announcement. A high speed police pursuit is underway of an alleged gang member. Citizens are requested or stay clear of Lincoln until the assailant is apprehended”

“A police chase?” Jay smiles, this place was already eons more exciting than his last town. He quickly exits the café, ignoring the girl’s warnings that they were actually on Lincoln.

Right as the Jay steps out onto the sidewalk he hears sirens. He turns toward the stretch of road beyond. A hover bike suddenly screams around the corner along with several police flying past.

Jay watches them close in, his eyes concentrating on the bike. He hated hover bikes, they were hardly controllable and scared the living daylights out of him. More importantly, that must be the gang member the police were chasing.

The young man made a split-second decision, concentrating on the bike, he pours all of his focus into it, adding a little hatred for anything two-wheeled into it.

“Come on…stop….stop…” Jay mutters.

Just as the bike passes him, on hover pad suddenly breaks, spinning the man onboard out of control. He bails, rolling just a foot away from Jay, who stares, shocked that he even accomplished breaking the bike in the first place.

The police cars stop, men in dark uniforms pouring out. Within seconds, several tiny blue lasers were targeted on the man slowly standing. Jay knew the blue meant stunning, like Tasers or darts while red meant you’d be dead. The criminal slowly holds up his hands breathlessly, he looked disheveled, a number of tattoos covering his face. His greyish eyes dart toward Jay and back at the police.

One cop steps closer, his gun trained on him, “Keep your hands up, you are under arrest.”

The man’s eyes once again dart to Jay. Swiftly, he wraps and arm around the young man. Jay gasps as he is yanked back against him, feeling something cold touching the side of his head. It was a gun, he knew that much. And it probably wasn’t on stun.

“Don’t get any closer! I’ll fucking kill him!” The criminal growls, pressing the gun harder against Jay’s head. The young man wiggles around, trying to get out of the man’s grip. He was usually able to get out of grips with how small he was, but this guy was desperate, and Jay was the only thing keeping him free at the moment. He wasn’t going to let go any time soon.

The police exchange a number of looks. Slowly they begin lowering their guns. Jay felt himself being dragged backward. He tries to break free with another burst of energy, but nothing worked. Panic reared within him. He was going to die, he was going to get his head blasted off and left in a bloody heap in the alley he now saw he was getting pulled into.  
The alley stretched to a corner where a car waited, floating just above the ground. The criminal sighs in relief. Jay concluded that he must have asked for the car.

“Are you gonna let me go now?” Jay asks, trying to keep the shakiness from his voice. There was no point in trying to use his powers, he couldn’t do anything like this. He needed complete concentration.

“Shut up!” The man says, looking behind him back down the alley. Police sirens were still blaring, but no men have moved yet.

The door opens on the car, a man stepping out. He was wearing a dark coat, what looked like gold splattered down from his shoulder. The coat wasn’t properly buttoned, there was a deep copper colored sweater beyond it. Jay could just barely see the collar of it. The man was turned away, the bill of his hat shadowing his face half-covered by a scarf.

“Wait—who are you?” The criminal demands, his gun beginning to twitch away from Jay but stays put.

The man conjures up a set of keys, “The driver. Chris said you needed a car and I got you one,” there was a beat of pause, “Who is the kid?”

The criminal looks down at Jay then back, “My bike got fucked up somehow, had to grab him. Hey—are you new or something?”

“Is there really time for that? Just drop him.” The man says casually, circling around the car. The criminal scoffs, and Jay feels himself released from his grip. He stares between them, beginning to bolt back down the alley.

“You know what, fuck it,” Jay hears the voice of the criminal speak just before a splitting pain erupts from his ankle. He collapses with a scream, looking back at his ankle bleeding quickly onto the asphalt.

“That wasn’t necessary,” The driver growls. Jay could just see the man behind the criminal.

“Why not? I already fucked up the job, boss is gonna kill me for that…” He turns facing the driver for the first time. He sucks in a breath, “Oh shit—“

Jay was already fading in and out of consciousness, the pain in his ankle was getting worse the shock of impact interrupting his breathing. He was going to die. That’s what it felt like at least.

He tries to focus his attention back on the two men, but now there was only one, the driver. He seemed to be placing something in his coat before turning and heading straight for Jay. Darkness again.

The young man forces himself back away, seeing the driver looking down at him. His eyes were a livid green, like emerald. Abnormally bright.

“You poor thing,” The man says, there was something in his tone that was naturally rough and condescending, however, there was some part of it that was genuine.  
He tries to speak, but his mouth was dry. He closes his eyes, listening to sirens screaming in the distance as he lets himself go.  
-WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW-  
Jay wakes gasping, shooting up to the dull light of a bedroom. It was very plain, the bed he sat in was free of linin and the shelves were empty. He feels a numbness in his ankle, suddenly remembering everything that happened, he looks over at it.

The wound was very neatly bandaged, however his pant leg suffered a large blood stain and a bullet hole. But, someone clearly healed him.

“That man…” Jay mutters to himself, “Those eyes…” Well, the first thing he thought of at the moment was how beautiful he thought they were, the second was that they were psychic eyes. He looks over at the nightstand. There was small piece of paper laying on it. He takes it, unfolding the message.

_You're Welcome_  was all it said, along with a strange symbol. A symbol Jay has scene before: a fox head.

Jay folds the paper back up, staring across the room at the plain, opposite wall, a light blush forming on his cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Wherever Jay had been taken, it certainly wasn’t close to where he had been before.

                He manages to pull himself out of bed and wobble over to the window. There were no large buildings, at least not like the ones he had seen. It looks like a place that would be on the outskirts of the district. The sky is in an orange haze. It was dusk, it has to have been at least a couple of hours. A cool irritation suddenly washes over him.

                “Dammit…she’s going to kill me,” He speaks to himself, raking a hand through his hair. It was completely messy, probably from what happened before.

                Despite how well his wound is dressed, it still hurts. Immensely. Jay tries carefully to put little weight on it. The man had helped him, yes, but Jay couldn’t exactly find gratitude in his heart when he has been dumped in some random apartment with little ability to walk. Although, he couldn’t help but wonder why the Fox bothered with him. The police could have helped, probably brought him to a hospital.

                With an effort he pushes himself away from the window, hobbling along the wall and into a living room area. On the coffee table sat a long, metal rod. Jay slowly moves over and picks it up, leaning against it. He supposes that was what it was for, what else?

                His head begins to pound incessantly. With a groan he tightens his grip on the rod to keep from falling.

There was points in his childhood where he begun to…see things. He could see figures from the past, almost like a flashback, but he could never control it. When he was twelve he had seen a vision of himself eating cereal. It wasn’t exactly the most amazing of powers when the most thrilling vision was of breakfast twenty minutes before.

                Then again, he realizes that this fit may help him figure out what happen. It is rare that the flashbacks were so well-timed, this being almost uncanny. He takes a deep breath, letting the world slow down around him. It was better to just let it happen, it only hurt his head more trying to fight it.

                Fizzy images appear around him, the room became much messier, as if someone was living there. He deduces that the Fox must have been staying here but packed up and left. He couldn’t really blame him despite his growing irritation with the man. He must move around a lot.

                A figure appears through the closed door: the Fox. In his arms was a fizzier, unconscious version of Jay. There was a thick cloth wrapped around his ankle, stained crimson. The Fox carries him across the room and into the bedroom from before. Jay follows the images, squinting as the figures flash in and out of reality. He uses the staff as leverage, swinging himself with awkward grace to the end of the bed.

                He wishes with sudden yearning that he could see the vision more clearly as he watches the man pull a first aid kit from under the bed. His face was blurry and still mostly covered with his scarf. The only constant was his vivid green eyes.

                Every moment he watches carefully. The Fox pulls several cylinders from his coat, dropping them rather carelessly on the floor before he begins caring for past-Jay’s ankle. Jay steps forward, looking down for a closer look at the cylinders. They look like the handle and hilts of swords.

                _Why would he have a bunch of broken sword handles?_ He thinks, although the very act was beyond painful for his head.

                Jay hears an altered sound of a door opening. He watches the man’s head snap up, one of the cylinders shooting up from the floor. A blade extends from the hilt, trained at the open bedroom door. Jay stares at the floating weapon with a gaping mouth.

                _“Baise,_ Aiden!” It is a woman’s voice, appearing in the doorway with her hands up. She was an odd looking young woman, her dark hair was pulled into a Mohawk, a couple of piercings on her face. Jay tries to concentrate on her but the image refused to be much clearer than what it was. It only served to hurt his head more.

                However, Jay could detect a French accent, strangely enough, and he realizes that the woman just said a name.

                Aiden.

                The Fox doesn’t bothering turning to her, going back to what he was doing, the sword lowering very slow before vanishing into the hilt. He speaks bluntly, “If you didn’t want me trying to stab you, you should have called me before you came.”

                “I wanted to…Ok. Aiden…I’m sorry but what the Hell are you doing?”

                The Fox, or Aiden, sighs heavily, “It’s a long story.”

                “You are not getting away with that,” The woman says with a chuckle, touching Aiden’s shoulder gently. Jealousy suddenly flares in Jay’s chest, but he slowly pushes it back. He at least believes the feeling is jealousy. He had a problem with that, but most of the time it ended up being fruitless.

                “The kid was being used as a hostage. The asshole shot him so…”

                “You kidnapped him.”

                “Well now, you make it sound horrible. I’m just fixing his ankle. That’s it.”

                The woman shakes her head, crossing her arms, “You’ve never done something like this before.”

                “And _you’ve_ never asked this many questions before,” Aiden lifts a hand, a roll of bandages floating up to him, “I’m guessing I need to get out of here.”

                “Gee, how did you know?” the woman drops her arms, walking out of the room, “I’ll pack things up.”

                Jay sees the figure of the woman vanish rather suddenly, and some of the objects in the room beginning to disappear as well. It usually meant the vision was about to end. Jay turns back to Aiden finishing off his work. The young man’s brow furrows as his image becomes somehow clearer, his features becoming more distinct. He is looking down at Jay’s unconscious twin, slowly reaching out and running a hand through the younger man’s hair, messing with the neatness of it. Jay touches his hair, practically feeling the Fox’s fingers in it.

                Aiden pulls back, as if ripped from a daze, and stands, his figure abruptly vanishing as it turns toward the door.

                Jay lets out a heavy sigh, blinking his eyes awake. A usual numb feeling corrupted his head as he moves past the living room and out into a blank, plain hallway. It smells of cigarettes and stale alcohol. Not the nicest of places, clearly. He passes a couple kissing against the wall, they pay no mind to the young man. They most likely don’t even notice him.

                When he gets down a set of stairs he sees a bored looking woman working behind a desk. She looks over at Jay, “Don’t even try.”

                Jay frowns, “Try what?”

                “That man in the coat told me if you asked about him to not tell you anything. Gave me a lot of money too.”

                Jay wants to think that he wasn’t going to ask, but he was going to. He sighs, “Well…can you please give me directions to Greenhill Apartments?”

                The woman raises an eyebrow, “Someone is in it rich, huh?” she pulls out a pad of paper and pen, scribbling down instructions, “I’d avoid the alleys here, kid. Someone like you uisn’t safe in these parts.”

                “Great…” Jay adjusted his grip on the metal rod, taking the paper and muttering a thank you before heading out the door. He looked at the instructions, then up at the streets, sighing again, “This is going to be a long walk.”

                He didn’t trust any of the taxi cabs. He generally didn’t like people driving him, especially strangers. However, after what the woman said, he didn’t exactly trust walking alone either. He was never trained in any way to protect himself, not to mention there being something noticeably childish about his physique, despite being a 22-year-old. Most didn’t believe he was old enough to even drink alcohol.

                Jay kicks a rock in frustration, cursing as he almost falls over. Regaining his balance he moves a couple more blocks. Nothing was familiar, though he _had_ only been there for a couple of hours before he was shot by the criminal and carried off by the Fox.

                In the meantime he thinks about the vision he had, and the Fox, his name…Aiden.

                “I don’t think I’m supposed to know that,” Jay says to himself, turning a corner. A bright sign illuminated the street, Jay could hear an awkward, loud beat as he stood under the LED of the structure. It is some sort of club from the looks of it. Although, the beat was completely hideous. If there was anything Jay hated more than anything, it was bad music.

                He looks at a sign next to the line of people awaiting the bouncer’s approval: Dot ConneXion. Whatever the club is, it must be popular, despite the terrible sounds coming from it. He steps toward a person in line that looked friendly, an attractive young man with hair dyed purple and pale grey eyes. The stranger looks over when he notices Jay’s staring, and smirks.

                “Whatcha staring at, kid?” He asks.

                Jay adjusts his gaze, “Is this place always this popular?”

                The stranger raises an eyebrow, “Are you new or something?”

                “Yeah, and I heard the terrible music and I was curious,” Jay says simply, shrugging.

                The stranger chuckles, “Yeah, the music is shit.”

                “Then why is it so popular?”

                “Because it’s the best club in the district in terms of everything else. And you know when you hear bad music long enough you just get used to it.”

                That isn’t true for Jay, whenever he heard terrible music, he only wanted to fix it. He looks back at the entrance, “How can I get in?” part of his brain nagged him about finding his home, but it didn’t take long for the rest of him to realize how infinitely little he cared.

                The stranger looks at him for a long moment, as if contemplating something else entirely. Shaking his head he reaches over, pulling Jay over the rope to stand next to him, despite the angry complaints from behind him. He tells Jay, “You seem like a cool guy mate, so you get a free invitation. My name’s Wick, by the way.”

                Jay smiles, “Jay.”

                The two shuffle through the line slowly. Wick asks curiously about Jay’s ankle, in which he replies that he was bitten by a dog. The young man never found it hard to lie, he’s lied his whole life, about his powers, about when he snuck out of the house, everything. Wick had almost seemed to notice, or at least it had _looked_ like he did from the raise of his eyebrow at Jay’s expertly crafted excuses. However, he had not called him out on it, so Jay pushes the concern from his mind.

                When they step toward the bouncer, Wick shows him a shiny card reflecting off the neon lights. The man’s dark eyes look toward Jay expectantly, who only stares at him sheepishly. His new friend moves between them, whispering in the bouncer’s ear, slipping something in his pocket. The man nods, gesturing to the door. Wick leads Jay inside with a large grin on his face.

                “Did you just bribe him?” Jay chuckles, the hallway they enter dropping to a navy-black haze. Wick, however, doesn’t answer. He pulls Jay past a room full of dancing bodies, colorful lights flashing and sparking from a balcony overlooking the dance floor. Jay stares, dragging his feet to try and see more of the room. If the music wasn’t so heinous, he might just think he is in heaven.

                “Over here,” Wick speaks sharply, yanking Jay into a room lit only by a couple of hazy orange lights. A couple of plush couches sat up against the walls with a table in the middle of them for drinks.

                “Ah, what’s going on?” Jay asks, putting his hands in the pocket of his tail coat.

                Wick turns away from him. Jay realizes that he is taking contacts out of his eyes. “You can take yours out too, mate. Too many lights here for anyone to notice your eyes.”

                Jay stares, sucking in a breath, “Wait…how did you—?“

                His new friend laughs, looking back at him with bright, silvery eyes, “Can’t you sense other people like you?”

                “Ah…no…” Jay hates himself for saying that, for even having to say that in the first place.

                “What kind of psychic are you? I sense you from a mile away, mate. Pretty powerful stuff,” He grins, “Maybe the Fox rubbed off on you a bit.”

                “What do you mean?” He is just acting dumb now, but his mind was whirling.

                “Word with the gifted say they saw you carried off by the Fox. A lot of people want to know about him, you know,” There is something distantly aggressive in his tone, but Jay couldn’t detect it very well, more that his curiosity was strangely important.

                “I can’t say I know much…I was unconscious. When I woke up he was gone,” Jay explains, rubbing the back of his neck.

                Wick seems disappointed, but smiles, “Guess I couldn’t expect anything less. Sorry if I scared you there, mate. Just…I’ve never heard of the Fox caring enough to heal someone,” he gestures to Jay’s ankle pointedly.

                Jay laughs a little, tracing circles on his metal staff with his thumb, “Right…”

                Wick tilts his head, “Take those damn contacts out.”

                The young man smiles, doing as he says, blinking away the misty feeling. Wick leans forward, looking at them carefully, “Bloody Hell, maybe he just liked your eyes, mate. You shouldn’t have to hide those.”

                Jay blushes slightly, “Thanks…I wish I didn’t have to either.”

                The friend smirks, walking past him and out of the room, holding it open with his body he points up at the balcony, “The DJ isn’t even trying up there. I bet you can do better.”

                Jay steps out, looking up at the blinking machines up on the pedestal, “I’ve never done anything like that.”

                “Here, I’ll help you,” Wick steps away from the door, holding his hand toward the balcony. The man standing at the machines looks up, rocking back before collapsing.

                Jay’s eyes widen, staring at Wick with concern, “What the fuck?”

                “Relax, he’s just taking a nap. Go on.” He says as the club begins to quiet.

                Jay looks up at the balcony, heading up the stairs and to the loads of brilliantly lit machines. The DJ was breathing peacefully, lying on the floor. The sleeping man was wearing a poorly crafted mask. He pushes him away and, as an afterthought, taking the mask and slipping it over his face. He’d rather be anonymous for when the man eventually woke up. He turns around, looking with confusion at all the buttons.

                “Oh come on, Jay, you’ve always wanted to do this,” He speaks to himself, touching the controls, testing random sounds. There was no way he could learn how to use all the controls by the time the crowd would want music again.

                He curses under his breath, he thinks of the music he could be playing if he knew how to work the dumb buttons. Closing his eyes, melodies beat in his mind. Absently, he feels his hand move away tapping his fingers to the thought. He hears a couple clicks, some scratching, some sound.

                Jay opens his eyes, seeing several bits and bobs have moved, the sound he wanted flooding through the speakers. Somehow, he was able to translate his thoughts to what the buttons.

“I didn’t know I could do that…” he says in disbelief.

He tests it again, finding another set of tones, imagining them, _feeling_ the vibrations of the notes. His hands barely touch the controls, he watches them move by themselves. He laughs, laughs like a child in a candy store. His crystal eyes shining against the laser lights as he watches the patrons take to the dance floor.

He scans the crowd for his purple-haired friend, who seems to have disappeared. Jay shrugs it off with a smile, getting absorbed in his work he felt a natural connection to. Beneath the mask, a smile arises on his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

Aiden Pearce stands staring down the mess of straw and cloth around him. They used to be shaped like people, but years of brutal stabs and messy sewing left the things more like strange aliens than dummy people. They are positioned strategically placed across the abandoned steel yard within the masses of broken down, coppery metals and long-forgotten machinery.

                The young woman next to him holds a bronze pocket watch, a small smile on her lips. Her other hand plays with a thin, needle-like knife that spins around her pale fingers. She asks, “Are you ready?”

                The response she receives is a silent nod. With that she looks down at her watch, snapping the button down, _“Go.”_

Aiden is off before the words even escape her mouth, having already heard the clock ticking. The woman watches three objects shoot from his coat. She never has truly gotten used to the sudden retraction of the blade; as quick and precise as the death it brought. Hastily, she follows after the man as he jumps effortlessly onto a rusty boxcar. She watches the arch of brazen swords fly close to the Fox, darting off toward their targets as if they were always meant to go there. She spies several swords from earlier wrench free from their dummies, returning to replace the ones lost.   

The path Aiden lead was a merciless dance, and the woman was sure he never notices it. There was quiet, terrifying grace to it that never ceased to amaze her. She only needed to add music and his performance would be complete. But, no, Aiden likes the silence.

She continues following Aiden from the ground as he climbs up a pile of shrapnel. Four of his blades stab into a nearby shed already riddled with holes. The Fox catapults from the pile, a single sword still by his side. He lands on the flat of the blade, swiftly traversing his platforms and off again, plucking the final blade from the air and stabbing it into the poor dummy, shredding it right in half.

The woman clicks the watch off, jogging to his position, “I don’t understand why you keep doing this. You do it perfectly every time,” She says, tossing him the watch.

Aiden looks down at the time, “It is a better way to blow off steam than murdering civilians, isn’t it?” He tosses the device back at her, “And I was half-a-second late.” He walks past her, his swords slowly pulling back toward him.

The woman shakes her head, hurrying after him, a scowl replacing her smile, “Aiden.”

“Clara.” Aiden mimics her tone, his back and arch of swords facing her.

“You take things too seriously. You need to lighten up…” She ducks under another sword going back to her friend, “Ever since that kid you’ ve been more of a brood than usual, and that’s concerning.”

“Why do you think it’s the kid?” His tone was clearly defensive, too defensive.

Clara reaches out, yanking Aiden around toward her, “There was something about him, something you’re not telling me.”

His swords suddenly vanish into their handles, pattering onto the ground. The man puts his hands in his pockets, looking at her seriously. He speaks blatantly, “Fine. His aura was…off.”

“Off?”

“Off as in like mine.”

Clara stares, trying to process this. Aura is just how psychics measured power, or if they even have their gift at all, considering most hide their eyes. She remembers meeting Aiden after months of anonymity. His aura, his energy was like nothing she every felt before. She could only describe it as if it were a raging rainstorm, nothing but unbridled, relentless strength. To think of someone that matched his level of power seems unprecedented.

“Are you sure? I didn’t sense anything from him,” She says.

“Neither did I at first, I thought he was just some poor fool that got pulled into something he shouldn’t. But…” He trails off, picking back up almost as quick, “It’s packed away, I don’t think he even knows that he has what he does.”

Clara notices something about Aiden’s eyes. Past the vibrant green that always held back. She ignores it, sticking to the subject, “Do you think he’s in danger?”

“Yes. I do,” Aiden raises a hand, his sword handles flying over at his command, replacing themselves within his jacket and he says gravely, “I will not be the only one that notices.”

“So what are you going to do? He probably has parents, you know. And who knows where he went…”

“I can find him.”

“Aiden!”

“I can find him,” He repeats, pivoting back toward the bunker where they both stayed. Clara curses in her usual French, heading after him.

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

It is just after dawn, the air was crisp and windy out on the island. Chicago is at least twenty degrees warmer in its inner alleys, where heat poured from every bit of metal. Aiden waits for the bridge connecting the place to the rest of the still-sleepy city. His eyes are closed as he listens to the grinding gears and sloshing water.

                _He must live somewhere in the Loop, either that or Mad Mile. He dressed like he was pretty well off…_ He thinks, stepping on the metal of the bridge as it locks into place. Clara was relentless on asking about Aiden’s plan. Frankly, he’d rather she asked about that then his intentions the night before by carrying the kid all the way to one of his hideouts.

                Whoever the kid was could have woken up at any point and mostly likely not take his state lightly. It was a stupid plan and completely unlike Aiden, and Clara knew that. He was able to save himself with the mention of the kid’s aura, which he wasn’t lying about in the first place. Despite this, there was something about the young man that captivated him. The Fox racked his mind trying to think of why. The way he looked back at him, he casted such an innocence. Aiden barely knows what the word means anymore. And the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes how little of his attraction is parental based. He is _attracted_ to the stranger, but he convinces himself that he longed for the kid’s innocence more than anything.

                Aiden stops just before a fence, quickly putting in a couple contacts. It was fascinating how little people paid attention in the city that they couldn’t tell the difference between the Fox and a regular citizen. He could not hide his eyes very well, it took powerful contacts that he hates to wear.

                It is far too early for any sort of crowd, however a few persons lingered about. One woman in a brown and gold trimmed corset trots by Aiden, smirking as she eyes him. Aiden nods toward her but reacts in no other way.

                He wanders about the city, enjoying the peacefulness before the city finally wakes up. There is noise, bells and whistles, gears and the sounds of violin enhanced with electronic beat within a café. Despite the conversion to steam power, there was still hints of the old world within the city. Music was one of the few things still effected by the past. Aiden sometimes wishes he could listen a bit more, but there were more important things to deal with.

                The man travels towards the richer parts of town. He is banking on the fact that he could sense the kid’s aura, it was obvious enough. It couldn’t be that hard.

                Almost forty minutes of wandering about the city leads him to a large set of apartments called Greenhill. They were high class, very high class.

                Aiden could feel a force pulling him toward the area. He steps through the gate, speaking to himself, “So you’re somewhere around here...just where?”

                He goes past the woman at the desk who eyes him with an air of suspicion. Aiden ignores it, heading toward the stairs. The walls are littered with paintings and copper lamps that set a warm glow. Hearing voices he moves down the hall, looking at his watch: 7:55am.

                He stops in front of a certain door, voices spilled from it, muffled but sounding rather angry. The aura seems to be coming from the room as well.

                “What is going on in there then…?” He imagines that whoever was in there was most likely concerned. The man _did_ leave the kid in the middle of a strange part of town with an injured ankle. He touches the wood of the door, closing his eyes, the voices becoming clearer, vibrating in his mind.

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

He spent the whole night in that club…the people cheered him on as he passed the time giving them the best damn music he could muster from his imagination. At around 4am he finally realizes his situation. He remembers setting the headset and mask on the sleeping DJ and hobbling as fast as he could out of the club. It took all of one block until a patrol car found him. Needless to say, his parents were not happy.

                Now, Jay sits on the large, velvet chair in his new home. He barely took up half of the large piece of furniture. His ankle was re-bandaged and his clothes changed. His hair lost all messiness, his mother almost had to pin him down to brush it, like he was a toddler. There was a scent within his hair that escaped, something that smelled like rainwater and gasoline.

He cannot keep the sullen, bitter feeling off his face as he looks across the coffee table at his parents.

                His mother’s head was in her hands, rubbing her temples. His father, on the other hand, looks right back at him. He is a burly man with trimmed black hair similar to Jay’s. He stood in his same, authoritarian stance, staring down at his son with intimidation that Jay never, ever fell for.

                The man was completely opposite from Jay, even in physical features. At least his mother is somewhat sympathetic to his plight. If it were his father in the carriage he would not have let him go out.

                “I’ll ask again,” His father says slowly, holding back his frustration very poorly, “Who helped you? Who bandaged your ankle?”

                “And I’ll say again,” Jay says with a scowl, “I. Don’t. Know.”

                Jay thinks he should be tired, but he isn’t. He’s wide awake. His father has been interrogating him about the night’s events for two hours. If there was anyone Jay could lie to the easiest, it would be his father. He hates him, _loathes_ his ideals, his constant idea that he could actually scare him. He reveled in his father’s irritation, he thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

                He had explained the situation on _how_ he got shot very truthfully. However, there was no way in Hell that he will tell him about the Fox. His father is probably the president of prejudice against psychics, and he had connections. If he knew the Fox helped him, it will not be good.

                “So you’re saying you just woke up in the apartment? No one around?”

                “I’ve said that for the past two hours,” Jay crosses his arms, leaning back against the seat, “I passed out getting shot, I woke up and I was in the apartment.”

                “You didn’t think to ask the employees who brought you there?”

                “No, I didn’t. I was more concerned about getting out of there.”

                “You certainly weren’t concerned about getting home.”

                Jay stares, slowly leaning over, elbows on his knees, “I didn’t want to go home.”

                His mother looks up, “Where did your contacts go?” she gasps, “Did the police see your eyes?”

                “They didn’t see anything,” His father speaks, it is his usual implication that he paid the cops off. It would be embarrassing if someone like him had a child being what he is. It makes him want to run out into the street shouting about it, holding up a sign showing who his father is.

                “Why can’t you just accept who I am? I shouldn’t be here! I should be out on my own! I’m not a little kid anymore—“

                “You haven’t proven that, Jay. You are still a child, and there is absolutely no way you will be going anywhere outside this house—“

                _“What?”_ Jay stands, wobbling slightly, catching himself on the chair. He don’t know where his mother put the metal rod the Fox had given him, but he didn’t care. He felt boiling anger burning in his chest, “You can’t keep me here!”

                His father steps forward, his muscles tense, “I can’t?”

                Instinctively, Jay steps back. His father, never once hit him. No matter how angry he was. However, he stood about ready to choke him out. At that moment, Jay suddenly realizes his size, fear creeping up on him. He pushes it back, holding a steely glare.

                His mother moves between them, “Please, both of you…you are both angry. We all need to calm ourselves down. Peter,” She turns to Jay’s father, “What happened to him was beyond his control—“

                “What are you talking about? Yes getting dumped on the other side of town is granted but if he was smart he would have come back here, not go parading around Chicago with a broken ankle like a scared mouse!”

                Jay’s eyes flare up, “Stop _calling me that!”_ he shouts, the lights above flickering, but he is too livid to notice, “You know what I was doing? I was at a club. I was there all fucking night having some fucking fun for once in my life! I even made a friend there! Now you expect me to sit here like a prisoner because you are too scared to admit to your business that you have a _freak_ for a son?”

                His mother screams as china and small bits of furniture fly across the room, “Peter!” she shouts.

                Peter goes forward, grabbing Jay’s arms. Jay curses, barely processing what he says to him before wiggling out of his grasp, stumbling across the room and through the pristine kitchen. The pain in his ankle is nonexistent. Glass and chairs slam into one another, he hurtles over a fallen couple of boxes for moving, crashing through the open door into the hallway.

                And slams right into the Fox.

                He gasps, staring up at him, “Y…you’re…”

                The man nods, his eyes were paler than before. He must be wearing contacts…

                Jay tries to focus on what is happened, “What are you doing here—“

                _“Jay!”_ His father roars from the house, he could hear him making his way to the door.

                He suddenly feels himself yanked closer to the man. His coat smelt like the fresh air, clear and crisp. He feels warm breath close to his ear, a familiar voice speaking soft, “I know what you are, Jay. I’ll be back.”

                At that moment, everything Jay felt, smelt, heard…vanishes as if it never appeared. Jay feels a sudden, crashing wave of despair.

                His father steps up behind him, putting an arm around him and lifting him off his feet. Jay screams another line of curses, kicking out, he never realizes that tears are escaping his eyes.

                _I know who you are, Jay. I’ll be back._

                “Calm down before someone calls the fucking cops!” His father shouts, but Jay was barely listening.

               When he’s released he sees he is in a bedroom. It is his. He hears a slam and then a small click. With slow, drawn out breathes, he looks back at the closed door, pulling himself up.

                _I know who you are, Jay. I’ll be back._

Jay backs up, collapses on the bed, the reality of the situation exploding like fireworks in him. He lies back, staring at the ceiling, racking hands through his hair, ripping at it, reaching toward what the Fox…Aiden…had given him before.

                “He knows who I am,” Jay speaks in a whisper, slowly dropping his arms from his hair, “He’ll be back.”

               


	4. Chapter 4

Aiden walks briskly down across the bridge toward the bunker. He still has not rid himself of the painful stab of guilt. He never thought some stranger would make him regret leaving him so quickly. He promised him he would be back, that was all he could do. However, the memory of seeing his wide, crystal blue eyes with so much anger and confusion and fear…

The Fox shakes his head, pushing the pesky emotions from his mind. He needs to explain things to Clara, and find a way to help that kid, Jay.

He stops at a boxcar, swiping it open and stepping into darkness. A limp mattress lay in the corner with a couple boxes and a broken radio. He walks to the other end, sending a pulse through the ground. There was no other way to signal the movement of the car. You have to be gifted, and although some psychics were enemies, most tend to stick together. There are bigger battles to fight than with one another, but Aiden is sure there are more of them hidden in the highest ranks of city. It is rather obvious to him, actually.

When the man enters the bunker, a sudden and shrill alarm shatters through his thoughts. He claps his hands over his ears, stumbling to lean against the doorframe. The frequency slices pain through every fiber of him. Psychics couldn't stand high frequencies, their acute sense of hearing and concentration made the screaming noise agonizing, like a dog with a dog whistle.

Right as he collapses to his knees, the sound vanishes abruptly. Aiden slowly lets go of his ears, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Wow, you dropped down quick, didn't you?" The voice is muffled and distant, along with another speaking fluent, angry French.

" _You have a death wish don't you?"_ It is Clara, there is a collection of shuffling and curses reverberate that all sound like Aiden's ears are stuffed with cloth.

He feels hands on him, shaking his shoulder gentle as he begins to regain his senses. He finally hears his name being called clearly, looking up at Clara's concerned look, and she sighs, "Aiden…thank God."

"What the fuck was that?" Aiden stutters to his own irritation, grabbing the railing of the balcony and lifting himself up.

"Well…" Clara gives a sheepish look, gesturing to the figure appears beside her.

Damian Brenks stares back at him with a smug grin, hands pulled into his pockets. He was dressed unnaturally nice in chestnut brown vest coat and matching pants. There is what looked like oil splattered on one of the white sleeves.

"Pearce! It's been awhile—"

"What are you doing here?" Aiden demands, looking at Clara, "What is he doing here?"

Damian laughs shortly, "Glad you missed me too, friend."

Clara sighs, "He let himself in."

"And you didn't stop him?"

"Well if he took the time to dress like such a gentleman I thought he could be trusted," Clara mutters sarcastically before crossing her arms, "Do you think I didn't try?"

"You should have tried a bit harder," Aiden hisses dismissively, heading down the stairs. He hears his old friend laugh from the top.

"I see he hasn't changed at all, I bet he still uses the swords I made him too."

"He does, and now he's in a bad mood, again," Clara sighs, hurrying over to Aiden but Damian is faster, stepping in front of him.

"Listen, I know I'm not someone you enjoy seeing—"

"So observant of you," He tries shoving past him but Damian catches his arm.

" _But,_ I feel like that if you look deep in your heart, you can forgive me," He says, patting his own heart with a smirk.

Aiden stares, barely suppressing his bitter laughter, pulling away from him, "The last time we talked, you held up a bank—"

"Now you make it—"

"Stole thousands of dollars along with injuring civilian hostages—"

"—Sound like—"

"And shattered the bones of twenty cops leaving them completely and utterly incapacitated and in pain after you promised you would never use your powers for that—"

"—Like I'm a terrible person."

Aiden stares, growling, "You _are_ a terrible person!"

Damian's smirk twitches a bit, "Oh, like you are much better, Pearce. So I shatter a few bones. At least I down skewer people on the end of swords."

"The swords you made me, right," Aiden smiles coldly, "How's that leg doing by the way?"

The fellow psychic pulls up his pant leg in response, brazen metal crafted expertly into a cybernetic limb, "It's doing great, thanks for asking. I tried not to curse your name to oblivion while I was making it. It took a lot of will power and inner strength, but I made the best of it."

"I didn't have to do that to you if you would have listened to me," Aiden says quietly, pushing the memory of the night from his thoughts as he spoke with strength, "You did that to yourself. You are one of the reasons why the humans fear us."

"Is that such a bad thing? We've already been through this song and dance, Pearce. If we didn't fight back they would have just kept up their prejudice."

"You're right, they still have prejudice, but now it's _justified!"_

" _SHUT UP!"_ Clara shouts, both men are suddenly flung to either side of the room. Aiden slams into a wardrobe while Damian almost collapses on a table of metals. Clara stands where they were, a vivid frustration in her bright eyes, "You two are going to drive me crazy. Damian, what you did was wrong, but Aiden, you can't change it! Now stop fighting like a couple of toddlers and make up before I kill both of you slowly and painfully."

Both men pull themselves up, Damian dusts himself off, his hands already slipping back in his pockets, "Mom's right, we need to kiss and make up."

Aiden walks back, rolling his shoulders, forcing his rage back into himself, "Just tell me what that noise was, and why you're here."

"Well, the noise was that pile of parts over there," Damian says, pointing over to a small clump of shattered metal, "Clara didn't like me testing it out on you."

"How did you two not hear it?"

Clara looks at him, "Ah…ear plugs—I had to put them on! I wasn't going to hear that shit. I broke it though, if it makes you feel better."

Aiden sighs very slowly, looking back at Damien, "Why do you have that?"

"I created it. And, instead of selling it to one of your many, many enemies, I decided to stop by here. That's how nice I am, I'm a changed man!"

"The transformation is astounding, really," Aiden says with sarcasm dripping from every pore, "What's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"I'm not stupid. You want something."

"Well you know me way too well," Damien smiles, "I just need a place for my workshop, alright? No tricks, no set up. I just don't exactly trust the city. Took me forever to even find this place in the first place."

"That's it? You want to _stay_ here?" Clara repeats slowly.

"Yep, that's it."

"That's not going to happen." Aiden speaks bluntly, "There is no way I can trust you."

"Well, if I'm not staying here I could always go find work with the Club. I'm sure they would appreciate a way to bring you to your knees," Damien shines a particularly familiar evil smile.

Aiden narrows his eyes, two swords fly from his coat, retracting and honing in on the psychic, "It doesn't work like that, Damien."

Surprisingly, Damien keeps his smile, touching one of the blades, "You've been keeping these pristine, I'm impressed. But listen, I know you won't kill me. I can help you too much. And I'm willing to cooperate, even with this rich-kid problem you've been having."

Aiden scowls, the swords inching closer to his former friend, "How do you know about that?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Not good enough."

"Ok, so I heard it around that some kid was creating a big fuss with his shiny aura. It's everywhere."

Aiden thinks about this, how could everyone know? Jay seems a bit new to be known across Chicago. He puts the thought aside, looking back at Damien, "How am I supposed to trust you?"

"We've been through this. _I can help you,"_ Damien reasons, "And I know you, Aiden. You know it's true."

Aiden looks away, his eyes landing on Clara, who looks back with an unsure look. Aiden slowly turns back, his swords vanishing and returning to him. He musters all of his will power, "Fine. You can stay here."

"Wonderful!" Damien claps his hands together, grinning.

"But if you so much as _think_ of turning on us I will slice off your head and throw it in the river," Aiden threatens with deadly calm.

"I get it, really."

"Now," Aiden says, stepping closer, "Where did you hear about J—the kid?"

Damien puts his arms behind his head, "Some Australian bastard. Sly kid, saw him walking out of a jewelry store with a bunch of sleeping customers. I think we had a lot in common."

This sets Aiden off, "Did you get a name?"

"Nope, But his hair was purple. He said he met the kid in Dot ConneXion. And I know you aren't very social so—"

"I know it's a club, Damien." Aiden sighs, moves away from them. He hears both Damian and Clara speaking as he enters his bedroom, shutting the door.

_I've got to get that kid tonight_ he thinks _I don't have much time till others want to meet him._

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Jay opens his eyes, yawning. He has little to do in his prison cell of a room, so in his boredom he had decided to take a nap. He uncurls from the cramped ball he usually sleeps in, sitting up. His parents only showed their face to him twice after what happened, both times it was his mother giving him his things to put away. The boxes lay currently unopened at the corner of his room, victims of his rebellion.

However, his mother had attempted to comfort him, saying that she'll try and speak to his father about his imprisonment. The more she spoke, the more sympathy had laid blatant in her eyes. Jay had actually smiled at her, even if it was small. After so many years, he was beginning to feel his mother finally trying to understand him.

The clock above him read 3:32pm. The young man groans, getting up, beginning to pace. He couldn't stand being in a still room for so long, he is becoming restless, "Please…there has to be a way out of here."

He thought of the Fox. _I know what you are, Jay. I'll be back._

He couldn't stop reveling in every bit of speech, every scent and feeling. The soft, gruff voice and fresh outside smell, the warm breath against his ear.

Jay whines, kicking a box down, some of his clothes spilling out. He wants it back, all of it, and soon.

He looks back toward the door then at his hands, mumbling, "Maybe…" He steps toward the door, trying to think of the lock. Beyond it he hears his parents arguing with someone. Jay knew his parents always had people over, and arguing about business was common for him to hear. They were in the living room…he could possibly sneak through the kitchen and get out. If he could just unlock the door…

"It can't be that hard…" Jay mutters, closing eyes as he did at the club, trying to imagine the unlocked knob.

He hears a scream, snapping from his concentration with a gasp, the knob suddenly cracking and breaking right off the door. He hears a couple of bumps, a sudden concern washing over him. He pushes open the broken door, moving swift and quiet across the hall.

He inches toward the living room, the screams have silenced. He still hears footsteps, his heart beating faster as he pushes himself against the wall, peeking into the room.

A figure stands just above the bodies of his parents. He sucks in a breath unintentionally, "Aiden…?

The figure turns, pulling his hood down, Jay saw the bright, purple hair before anything else.

"Aiden?" Wick says curiously, "Who is that?"

Jay moves out of the corner, staring at the scene in front of him, almost forgetting to lie, "Ah, Aiden he's…my cousin. He's supposed to come for a visit—what did you do to them exactly?"

Wick smirks, "They're just sleeping, although they were a bit harder than the DJ."

The younger psychic pokes at his father's sleeping body, then up at Wick, "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

_Are you working for the Fox?_ Is what he wanted to ask, but he couldn't get himself too. There is always the chance he wasn't, and that would probably not be good. He doesn't want to reveal the man if he wasn't completely sure.

"I came to rescue the banished prince," Wick jokes, "I saw you run off randomly at ConneXion, I was trying to get to you but, well I'm not good with the police."

Jay frowns, "You're not?"

"This hair isn't exactly the most inconspicuous, and they don't like psychics," Wick moves back toward door, "you coming?"

"Um…where are we going?"

Wick smiles, "It's a surprise."

Whatever the surprise was, it had to be better than the state he is in now. Wick had saved him, but he couldn't help but think of Aiden. He looks at Wick sheepishly, "Maybe I should stay here…they can't be asleep for _that_ long."

"Seriously? After I put that DJ to sleep for hours and you don't trust my skills?" Wick chuckles, "Listen, I'm just going to bring you around town, just for a couple hours, we'll be back here before your parents wake up."

Jay looks at her parents, then at Wick. There cannot be that much harm in a couple hours, and he trusted Wick, despite not knowing if he worked for Aiden. He is a psychic like him, and introduced him to the ConneXion.

The young man smiles, nodding, "Alright. Let's get out of here."

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Aiden enters the Greenhill apartments at 3:42pm, moving with purpose up the stairs. His ultimate wish is the parents will not be present, but he had to be realistic. He had decided earlier to knock them out but he has the nagging desire to stab them both through their chests.

He had listened to their argument with Jay, he wanted to barge in and knock them down, to tell the kid he'd keep him safe, that what he did he had to do. But he couldn't get himself to do it, not now.

He goes to the door, touching to wood. There is an odd silence. It isn't late enough for them to be sleeping. He could only sense one life source, at this point he wondered if what he wished actually happened. Quietly, he opens the door, stepping inside.

"Oh shit," Aiden speaks under his breath, striding over to the two bodies of Jay's parents. He crouches down, checking the father's pulse. He is alive.

_What happened here?_ Aiden mumbles as he moves over to check the mother's pulse, just to be sure. He could only guess that Jay did this himself, however, Jay clearly had no control over his powers, especially not enough to put two people to sleep…

Aiden freezes, looking down at the mother. She was pale, her skin cold. Her pulse is nonexistent.

The Fox stands, striding down the hall, seeing a knob broken to a bedroom, a box of clothes kicked over.

"Dammit!" Aiden curses, backing away with fuels concentration, sensing two auras still fresh in the area, "I'm not to late…I'll find you."

His adrenaline sparking, the Fox bolts out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m glad people are starting to like the story, I am certainly enjoying the experience. Just barely know what the hell I’m doing but huzzah for improvising!  
> Also...there needs to more fanfics with Damien, he is a fun guy to write XD.   
> Btw, I don’t own Aiden or any of the other game characters blah, blah, and blah.

“Have you ever gotten that feeling that you are being watched?” Jay asks through his growing anxiety. Nothing has warranted the emotion, but half an hour of walking beside his new friend in complete peace apparently kick starts his nerves. He found himself on several occasions looking behind him, feeling eyes on them.

                “You are a nervous thing, aren’t you?” Wick jokes, smirking, “Why are you so jumpy?”

                “I don’t know…I’m not usually like this.”

                “I hope not, I know you were a bit sheltered but the outside world isn’t that bad.”

                Jay narrows his eyes, “I’m not sheltered…”

                “There is no shame in it, mate, it was out of your control,” Wick strides in front of him, walking backwards, looking at him with shining grey eyes, “Your parents didn’t understand you, wanted to hide your from the world, right?”

                “Yeah…was it really that obvious?”

                “Well, considering you act like a kid in a candy store at everything you see around here, yeah, it is pretty bloody obvious…but, I also get you,” He turns around, going back to matching his steps, “I had the same problem.”

                “Really?” Jay says, pondering this. He wasn’t surprised there is someone like him, Wick isn’t much older than himself. It feels comforting somehow, “What happened?”

                Wick turns into an alley, his hands behind his back, “I ran away a long time ago, moved here and found some work.”

                “You…ran away? How old were you?”

                “Twelve. Old enough to sneak onto the nearest airship out of New York, I’m surprised you stayed as long as you did.”

                Jay stays silent, he _had_ tried to run away before, but he didn’t get too far. Back in Poland, everyone knew him. Back there someone was always there to bring him home, because they thought he was crazy, that his parents weren’t holding him back. An air of jealousy flares in him, how could Wick get away with it but he couldn’t?

                Wick stops suddenly, looking at one of the alley walls, “Hey, new art.”

                The young man stops next to his friend, looking over at wall, his jaw dropping. The brick is riddled with graffiti that spilled from the top to bottom in a Technicolor waterfall.

                “Who did this?” Jay asks, eyes wide.

                His friend shrugs, “Just some kids with spray paint. It’s everywhere…” He trails off, pointing at a certain symbol encased in a circle, “Bet you’ve seen this before.”

                Jay moves his eyes to where he’s pointing, the symbol was shaped like a fox head. As he scans the rest of the art, many held the mark, “So he really is popular…”

                “’Popular’ is an interesting word there,” Wick says, “More like ‘infamous’. You have no idea how many people would like to, ahem, ‘talk to him’.” He slips the phrase into air quotes. Jay knows what he truly meant and is not surprised considering how many hate their kind with a passion.

                The two make their way out of the alley, Jay could hear noise coming from down the next street, “What’s going on?”

                Wick is grinning now, turning to him, “Let’s say I lied about just going around town.” He leads him toward the noise, he is courteously slow considering Jay’s still throbbing ankle. He hates having to limp everywhere, he felt weaker than usual.

                Beyond he sees the street crowded with people chattering incessantly. There were tents lifted haphazardly and stacked up boxes of unknown contents. The crowd is split into circles around certain areas, children and nervous-looking parents hopping from area to area. It seems like a fair almost, but hastily put together, as if it were just thought of an hour ago.

                “What’s going on over there?”

                “A protest.”

                “Protest?” Jay says, thinking, “For psychics?”

                “Yup, these are my favorite. You know, not big enough to attract too much attention, but spontaneous enough to get people interested in what we can really do,” He looks at Jay, “It’s time you learn a bit about yourself.”

                “I’m pretty sure I know a lot about myself,” Jay mumbles, rubbing his arm.

                “Oh, no, you have no idea, mate,” Wick laughs, touching his shoulder, “You barely know what a _kind_ of psychic you are.”

                Jay hesitates, his expression turning miserably sheepish, “There are different kinds?”

                “You just thought we all make things float, didn’t you?”

                “Maybe…”

                Wick rolls his eyes, “Wow…this will be a lot of work. We’ll start slow. Follow me.”

                Jay follows his friend toward a fire escape, quietly cursing to himself as he starts climbing up the small building. He proceeds cautiously, Wick helping him up the last ladder, sitting on the edge of the rooftop. The structure overlooks the impromptu fair well. Jay could see the farthest away circle watching a young woman manipulate several metal spheres.

                “Are those all…ah…humans watching them?”

                “Not everyone hates our guts, mate. Some are actually welcoming and want to see what we can do,” Wick answers with a smile, he points toward the young woman, “Now for some education. That little lady over there is an Aero, they specialize in telekinesis aka making shit float around.”

                “I didn’t know there were types…”

                “Well, I don’t blame you. I didn’t know either. But most psychics find what they are good at and stick with it. Most are Aeros. It’s the easiest to perfect.”

                “What are you?”

                “Me?” Wick smirks, pointing down at another circle, a man is leading another to the center. He holds out a hand, making a gesture that Jay recognizes. Wick did something similar at the club.

                Immediately, the human man’s eyes flutter, he begins to fall but the psychic catches him. The crowd whispers and chatters about as the psychic somehow brings the human back to consciousness with a wave of his hand.

                “Will benders,” Wick says, “We can manipulate the mind, sleep, thought reading, things like that.”

                “That sounds powerful,” Jay says, but wonders if Wick ever read his mind. He didn’t exactly need anyone invading his thoughts; they were his own.

                “Well, it doesn’t work sometimes. Humans with high intelligence are harder to control, and it definitely won’t work if a person is _aware_ someone it trying to control them. I mean…we can try and force ourselves in but it takes a lot more energy and probably not worth it at that point.” Wick’s eyes dart around, as if remembering something. Jay decides not to question it, although at this point he really wishes he knew how to read minds.

                “…What am I?” Jay is deadly curious now, looking at Wick expectantly.

                Wick thinks about this only for a second, “You’re a Visionary.”

                Jay stares, blatant about his next question without asking it.

                Wick continues, stretching, “Psychics that work better with their eyes closed. You can manipulate almost anything artificial, but you have to imagine it, dream it. I heard people like you can look into the past too, see things you otherwise did not see yourself due to certain circumstances.”

                Jay thinks about the apartment he woke up in, the visions he had of things he couldn’t see. It makes sense. He remembers manipulating objects in his home when he got angry, he didn’t realize what he was doing, and it didn’t matter.

                “There are no Visionaries here,” Wick says, “You’re pretty rare, really. Most can’t control their power unless they can see.”

                “Well, I guess that helps that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing half the time anyway,” Jay grumbles.

                The two watch the fair play out for a while, the crowd in awe at the power being displayed. “I don’t get it…why do they fear us so much?”

                Wick, now laying on his back staring up at the sky, glances over at him with an odd expression, “You really know nothing…” it was under his breath, but Jay heard it.

                “Are there people that…”

                “Bone Devils,” Wick sits up, his eyes suddenly serious, “People that can manipulate the muscle and bone. Need I explain more?”

                The young man stares, “Seriously?”

                Wick nods, “Needless to say they are a bit scary. The only people that take the time to learn that are people you should stay away from.”

                Jay looks back down at the fair,                 seeing two in particular snaking through the crowd. He narrows his eyes at one, a woman with dark hair.

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Clara listens to the humans speaking positively about the demonstrations with a small smile. There was a point in the past where she thought only violent rebellion could solve things. She was wrong, clearly, based on the last two years.

                Although, she didn’t completely rule out violence, especially for the man following her.

                “I cannot believe you made me come here,” Damien mutters for she’s sure the third time in the last hour. She turns to him with a raised eyebrow.

                “You’ve said that.”

                “Well you’ve ignored me the last two times and I wanted to make sure you knew, sweetheart. If you didn’t want me complaining you should have let me stay at the bunker.”

                Clara narrows her eyes into a glare, “Don’t call me sweetheart. And to Hell if I trust you alone there. And I didn’t _make_ you come. I _tricked_ you.”

                Damien scowls, “Well when a woman tells me she want to ‘go for a nice walk’ I can hardly refuse. That would be rude.”

                “You’re disgusting…” Clara scoffs, crossing her arms.

                “Ouch, you hurt me,” Damien says, his eyes wondering past her, “Something you want, kid?”

                Clara turns, facing a young man with startlingly blue eyes and dark, messy hair. He stares back at her with intent to say something but he can’t seem to get any words out. Clara watches the stranger; he is familiar.

                “I know you,” The kid suddenly says, speaking in a daze.

                Another young man appears through the crowd, his hair an obnoxious purple, “Jay, what the Hell? I thought you were going to fall off the damn fire escape…” He trails off, looking at the two of them, his eyes focusing on Damien, “Oh, didn’t think I’d see you again.”

                “Likewise. He with you?” He points at the other young man.

                Clara ignores both of them, “I’m sorry…you said you knew me?”

                “Well…kinda…” He says, clearly trying to capture the right words, “You know the Fox.”

                The woman stares, her automatic response being to deny this. However, his face finally found her way into her memory, “You’re…” She shakes her head, “Yes, I know him. He’s been looking for you.”

                “Wait, what?” The purple-haired man speaks, but his friend seems to not be listening.

                “I know…” He shifts, looking at her with a sudden steely gaze, “How long have you known him?”

                Clara is baffled, “What? Does that matter?”

                He shrugs in response, “I’m just curious…”

                She hears Damien make a noise, as if coming across a sudden discovery, behind her. But, when she looks over he just smiles at her, saying, “So that’s the kid? Really? He’s what all the fuss is about?”

                “There is fuss about me?” The young man seems even more confused.

                “It doesn’t matter…look—“Clara is interrupted but shouting coming from the crowd occupied by a Will Bender. Now, a human stands close to him, the two glaring at one another.

                “Well, this might actually get interesting,” Damien says, and evil grin growing on his face.

                Clara bites her lip, feeling someone shoulder past her. It takes little time to see that it was the young stranger limping through the crowd toward the fight.

                “That can’t be good…” The purple-haired man says, his hands gripping and readjusting. Clara watches this for a few seconds, it was most likely nervous energy. The young man was probably a friend of his.

                “I’ll get him,” Clara says, following the stranger through the rapidly growing crowd. The young man is already in between the two men, glaring at the human.

                “Why don’t you leave him alone? This is supposed to be a peaceful fair…” He says with a surprising amount of authority, although not enough for the human to be intimidated. Clara saw that the younger psychic is small framed, wiry and nimble.

                “ _Peaceful?_ ” The human scoffs, “Yeah, right. That freak stole from me! I remember it!”

                “I didn’t do anything.” The psychic claims calmly, but there is anger in the back of his bright eyes. Clara watches, hoping that perhaps the stranger could settle things.

                “You’re a fucking liar! And you…” He turns his attention to the kid, “You could be messing with my head too.”

                “Um…I can’t do that—“

                “I don’t care! This doesn’t involve you, get away. Now.” He says, his glare intense.

                There is silence, save the muttering voices of the humans. Clara suddenly wishes she knew the young man’s name. However, she sees him begin to move away, turning his back on the man.

                “Yeah, try not to get in the way of things you don’t understand,” The human man grumbles.

                The young psychic seems to be ignoring him. But, he stops, his eyes darkening. In one, swift movement, he spins around, slamming his fist into the man’s face.

                The crowd spurs in a collective gasp as Clara curses. The young psychic stares at what he’s done, looking absolutely petrified. The human growls, throwing a punch back but the psychic runs under it, slamming through the crowd. Clara groans at the instant panic, pushing past a couple moving bodies, catching the kid’s arm. He turns, looking at her with wide, blue eyes.

                Damien and the purple-haired stranger join them. The latter grinning like a school girl, while the friend speaks, “What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you punch him?”

                “I…I didn’t mean to! Something came over me…” He defends, “I didn’t even realize…”

                “Ah, those are cop cars,” Damien suddenly speaks, pointing out the bright lights hovering straight toward them, “Who signaled them that fast?”

                “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Clara says quickly, “We are getting out of here.”

                Damien crosses his arms, watching the police begin to surround the small area with a nod, “Yeah, that’s not going to happen at this rate. But you know what could solve this?”

                “You are not doing anything. Fighting back will only make it worse!”

                “You see, with that kind of attitude it will.”

                “Damien!” Clara growls, reaching to take the young man’s arm, but found it no longer beside her. She looks around, seeing him and his friend have vanished, “Where did they go?”

                “I don’t know, but you should look out behind you.” Damien takes her shoulder, pulling her behind him. She rips away just as she sees what is behind her.

                An officer stands frozen, one hand holding a small but deadly-looking taser. His face is twisted in some mix of fear and frustration as he tries to move his arm stuck just where Clara had been. Damien saunters over, pulling the weapon from his hand, “Thanks,” he says smugly.

                Clara expects him to snap the officer’s wrist, or break his legs. But the man simply flips the taser around, slamming it into the man’s head and letting him drop unceremoniously. A gash of scarlet blooming from his shaggy hair.

                He turns to Clara, grinning, “So…”

                “Are you expecting me to thank you?” Clara says, crossing her arms.

                “Well I did just save your life.”

                “No you didn’t,” Clara mutters stubbornly, adding, “It probably wasn’t lethal.”

                The two hear screams across the lot, turning together. The crowd breaks apart, multiple uniformed men aiming their guns at the figure standing at the center.

                Damian barely registers what he sees before chuckling, “’The Fox’ certainly knows how to make an entrance.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

                Jay is just about sick of getting dragged around by everyone he meets.

                Wick had pulled him away from the two strangers and into the panicking crowd. Jay finally rips away from his grip, “Where are we going? You heard them—“

                “And why didn’t you tell me the _Fox_ was _looking for you?”_ Wick demands with concerning aggression, but it fades, regretting it, “I’m sorry…this isn’t the time for that. But if we don’t get out of here we’ll have bodies full of bullets.”

                “Will they really kill us?” Jay asks and as if on cue he hears several gun shots, a couple of figures vanishing.

                “Damn right they will, come on,” He leads them to the wall of the nearest building, a blockade of cars beyond.

                “There is no way we are getting through that,” Jay says, although he has to shout over the noise.

                Wick begins to speak, but his eyes wander above them, “Ah…I can think of one way…”

                Jay’s eyes dart to the shadow appearing from the rooftop above, landing with effortless elegance. Jay knew it was before his eyes even begin to process the man standing.

He does not know any other man that could silence chaos. Even if it is for only three seconds.

                The two friends stumble back as an enormous plume of steam explodes from the asphalt just below the blockade, sending several of the cars to pile atop one another. Another goes off, this time behind them before time fully reawakens.

                He hears an officer screaming into an earpiece for backup whilst the area begins to empty, humans climbing over the wreckage of the blockade.

                Jay’s first instinct is to do the same, but he is still, watching the Fox turn toward him, their eyes locking.

                “Jay, he’s looking at you,” Wick says slowly.

                “Yeah, he is…” Jay confirms in the same daze, seeing several objects fly out of the Fox’s coat. They were swords, from what Jay remembers.

                But, as the handles fly up, Jay could somehow hear a small clicking above the hysteria, the other end of the handles extending. They weren’t swords, they were batons.

                “Jay!” Wick shouts, shaking his shoulder. It sounds as if it wasn’t the first time he said his name. Jay looks at him, then back at the Fox, watching the batons spark as bullets ricochet off the metal. Other psychics engage the officers as the Fox moves forward toward the two. The officers begin to retreat, but something told Jay they wouldn’t be gone long.

                He starts running, meeting the man as if the fight beyond did not exist. He stares, “How did you know I was here?”

                The psychic doesn’t answer, his head snapping up behind him. One of the batons flips around, the sword blade appearing and pointed right at Wick.

                Wick raises his hands, staring with obvious fear. Jay stares between them, “What are you doing? He’s a friend!”

                The Fox yet again doesn’t answer, staring at Wick, who looks back at him, his eyes changing. They look at one another as if having a wordless conversation before Jay’s friend slowly steps back. The sword vanishes back to a baton, the older man taking Jay’s shoulder, steering him across the lot. He stumbles, pain nipping at his ankle.

                “Ok, that _hurts!”_ Jay scowls, stopping.

                “We need to hurry,” The Fox speaks finally, the voice is much rougher, not like the last time he spoke. There is a scarf over his mouth, but the tone was clear and demanding.

                “I can’t exactly hurry with _this,”_ Jay gestures to his injury, “You should know considering you stitched it.”

                “That doesn’t change the fact that we need to hurry.”

                “Well dragging me around isn’t going to help!”

                “Fine. I’ll try something else.” The Fox steps closer, some of the batons vanishing and returning to his coat as he wraps an arm around Jay, lifting him off the ground as he runs down the street, jumping over an abandoned car.

                “This is _not_ what I meant!” Jay shouts, gripping the older man’s arm.

                “Well what other plan did you have?” his voice is considerably calmer, however, it shifted to the condescending manner that makes Jay feel more insulted than he should.

                “Can’t you make me float or something!?”

                “Yes, but that makes you a target for crossfire, besides, we are almost to the bike.”

                “Bike…?” He feels him stop, setting him down. Jay sees the machine sitting on the curb in horror, “I really don’t like bikes…”

                The Fox looks at him blankly, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

                The two turn as the strangers from before join them. The man’s clothes were torn in several spots by skidding bullets, but he was smiling, unlike the woman next to him.

                “What the hell was _that,”_ The woman gestures to the clouds of steam still present in the distance, “You are going to have the whole city’s police force on you!”

                “I won’t if you cause a distraction while I get out of here. Without killing the whole city’s police force.”

                “That’s not effective at all,” The man says as sirens scream.

                “They are coming,” The Fox looks at Jay, “You’re going to have to trust me.” He goes the bike, Jay following with hesitation, looking at the two strangers.

                “Don’t worry, kid, you’ll probably survive. Probably.”

                “Damien, I swear…” The woman growls.

                Jay turns slowly, looking at the bike. He sees the police begin to make their way down a nearby alley as he sits behind the older psychic.

                “Hold on, don’t get shot,” The Fox says as the machine roars to life. Jay squeaks at the sound, wrapping his arms around the man for dear life as the cycle catapults down the street.

               

               


	6. Chapter 6

By the time the Fox stops the bike, Jay’s arms are numb from holding onto him so tightly. When he releases the older man he sucks in a long intake of breath.

                “Sorry…” Jay says sheepishly, stumbling off the machine in relief, happy to be on solid ground. He looks around, seeing that they are in a dark alley, “Why did we stop here?”

                “We walk from here, they can track the bike,” He says, “It won’t take long if we move quickly.”

                “Aren’t there cops everywhere?”

                “That’s never been a problem for me. Jay, right?” He asks, looking around the corner.

                Jay couldn’t think to say anything else, he simply nods, asking, “You’re Aiden, right…?”

                Aiden turns back, “How did you know that?”

                “Um…I saw a vision…flashback…thing…” Jay answers, making gestures with his hands, stopping them quickly, “Ah, that woman from before called you that.”

                “You can see the past?” Aiden’s eyes flash, “So you’re a Visionary then…”

                “Yeah, that’s what Wick called me.”

                “Who?”

                “That purple-haired guy you pointed a sword at,” Jay informs, “Thanks for petrifying him, by the way." 

                Aiden laughs quietly, “He wasn’t afraid. Far from it.”

                “And how do you know that?”

                Aiden pulls the scarf away from his mouth, raising an eyebrow. Instead of answering the question he asks, “What were you doing with that guy?”

                “He was just showing me around, telling me about psychics.”    

                “So…you _willingly_ went with him?”

                “Yeah…of course I did! I was trapped in my room and he put my parents to sleep--”

                “He didn’t—“Aiden begins to say, frowning at Jay’s confusion. His expression changes, as if holding something back, he looks at the younger man and speaks quietly “You shouldn’t trust him.”

                Jay raises an eyebrow, “Why not?”

                “Because you don’t know anything about him.”

                “Well I don’t know anything about you but you want me to trust you.”

                “I helped you--”

                “He helped me too. He’s actually given me more information than you have,” Jay crosses his arms, challenging the older man to think of better reasoning.

                Aiden looks as if he hasn’t considered this, before sighing, “Jay, I’m sorry…but that isn’t the case. You can’t trust him.”

                Jay narrows his eyes, crossing his arms, “Well what do you know? I would probably know if he was some crazy psycho!”

                “You probably wouldn’t. He’s a Will Bender, they specialize in acting. And keep your voice down.”

                “You’re saying that he hypnotized me?” Jay asks, almost speaking louder than before, “I don’t care who you are—“

                “Keep your voice—“

                “—But you can’t think that he was actually controlling me—“

                Aiden steps in front of him, covering his mouth before speaking again, leaning forward, “Keep. Your voice. Down.”

Jay forces himself to relax, a long, shaky breath escaping him as he steps back from his frustration. He nods and Aiden slowly lets go, pulling a handle from his coat. He flicks his wrist, the baton retracting. He leaves him with a glare before turning the corner.

                Jay frowns, limping after him. So the Fox didn’t trust his friend. It didn’t surprise him really, Aiden doesn’t seem like the type of person to trust people readily. However, Wick hadn’t shown him any reason not to trust him, it seems like the older man is working with a guess. Although, he remembers the change of expression, like he was holding something back, information Jay should know. Wherever they were going, Jay will make sure that when they get there he will ask about it.

                He makes his way to stand beside Aiden again, feeling a tension between them. He clears his throat, “Ah...so, who is Damien?”

                “He’s…a person,” Aiden answers, clearly finding it difficult to call whoever the man was anything.

                “Well, I assumed that much,” Jay jokes, but gently. Something told him that Aiden wasn’t exactly the best with humor.

                “…He was a friend,” Aiden says, “But he got us involved in some shit he shouldn’t have. It didn’t turn out well.”

                “Then why is he back?”

                Aiden moves behind one of the many large, coppery pipes in the alleys, pulling Jay with him. He peeks around, then back a bit too quickly, “Cops. They are going to start combing through the alleys. We need to move faster.”

                “We’ve been through this, I feel,” Jay whispers.

                Aiden looks over, scoffing, “Right…” He peeks back around the piping along with Jay, both seeing two officers moving down the alley.

                Jay’s eyes flash, an idea forming. He moves away from Aiden, beginning to step out. The Fox takes his arm, “What are you doing?” He whispers.

                The younger psychic looks at him, not even caring about his smug expression, “Being useless.” He moves out, this time Aiden not stopping him.

                The officers are quick to point their guns at him as he takes effort to stumble out, keeping his eyes to the ground.

                “Oh shit…it’s that kid,” One officer speaks.

                “What do you mean?” The other asks

                “The one the Fox carried off—“

                “Shit…really?”

                Jay holds up a hand to the two red lasers, the other wrapped around his stomach, “Please…don’t shoot…” He speaks with weakness and vulnerability that surprised even himself, “I…I don’t know where he is, but he’s close, please help me.”

                One officer lowers his gun, looking at his partner, “Keep on alert.” He steps forward, the other moving farther down the alley. Jay bites his lip, wishing they both would have taken the bait. He hears the partner move past the piping and Jay wonders distantly if Aiden had moved. He shuts his eyes as the officer takes his shoulder.

                “I need you to tell me what happened, kid. How did you get away?”

                “I don’t even know…it happened so fast…” Jay speaks vaguely.

                The cop makes a noise, sounding like impatience but being polite about it, “Try and remember, look at me.” Jay opens his eyes, looking over at his other hand still holding the gun.

                _“It’s you!”_ A voice shouts from down the alley before being harshly cut off.

                The officer’s head snaps up, calling down the alley, “Jameson!”

                Jay takes the chance as he could, snatching the gun right out of the officer’s hand, backing away. He points it at the man, shutting off his gasping. The officer’s hands fly up, staring back at Jay, “Your eyes…you are one of them.”

                “Honestly, I can’t believe you fell for that,” Jay says, easily mimicking confidence. It isn’t hard for him, despite having no idea how to work the weapon currently in his hand, “I thought you guys were supposed to be smart.”

                The officer takes offence to this, glaring at him, “Are you going to shoot me or what?”

                Jay didn’t exactly want to. The red laser shines right at the cop’s chest. He hesitates, ignoring the man’s curse. He suddenly feels the weapon plucked from his hand, and then a quick zip. When he refocuses, the cop in front of him it collapsed on the pavement, a dart sticking out from his neck. He turns, Aiden standing beside him.

                “You were doing well up until this point,” He says bluntly, “Have you ever shot a gun?”

                “No…I’ve never needed to,” He watches the man turn something on the weapon before placing it in his coat. Jay notices now that the baton he was holding before is splattered with red.

                Aiden looks back at Jay, surprisingly, he smiles. It is a small smile, but it is there, “Come on, stay close.”

                Jay does as he’s told, keeping near the Fox as he moves between hiding spots. He felt as if hours went by as they hop over a fence into what looked like an abandoned parking lot. Rare weeds poke from the cracked asphalt, old piles of shrapnel sit around like they’ve been rusting for a hundred years. Jay looks out at the river, smelling the layers of chemicals that are probably emanating from the water.

                There is an island across it, a bridge turned horizontal to break off the connection from the rest of the city.

                “That’s where we are going,” Aiden says, pointing to the island, “Because you were going to ask that.”

                “I wasn’t going to ask that!” Jay says. He was going to though.

                “Whatever you’d like to believe,” He says, stepping toward the edge of the lot.

                Jay watches the waves slosh up onto the concreate, “So…is there a remote to move that thing?”

                Aiden doesn’t answer, but he chuckles. It is a natural laugh, Jay couldn’t help but smile at it, even if he was laughing at him. He likes the sound of it.

                He lifts a hand, moving it slowly. Jay jumps as the sound of grinding gears punctures the quiet air. He watches the bridge nudge, as if being set free from chains, before slowly beginning to rotate.

                Jay begins to speak, but Aiden answers, “Yes. I am moving it.”

                The younger man pouts, crossing his arms, “Stop that…”

                “Stop what?”

                “Answering my questions.”

                “You claim I don’t give you enough information,” He says simply, turning back to the bridge as it locks into place. They make their way across, the bridge clanking at their footsteps. Jay listens, closing his eyes, it is a good beat, good enough for a song.

                A sudden shriek of metal stops him. He opens his eyes, one of Aiden’s swords points right at him. He looks at him, eyes wide “W—what are you doing?”

                “I didn’t do that,” He says, taking the weapon, “You don’t have control over your powers.”

                Jay gulps, “I know…I didn’t exactly have any chance to practice.”

                “Well, you’ll have time now,” Aiden says, looking at him, “You have a powerful Aura, I brought you here because you are in danger.”

                “I am?” Jay frowns, “Because I’m powerful?”

                “And you have no idea how to use it. You’d be a good weapon for anyone to recruit. I just got to you first.”

                Jay feels like he should be thanking the man, however, he wasn’t quite ready for it. He doesn’t know what’s in store for him here, and it made his nerve spark up like firecrackers.

                “Wick talked about Auras too…but I don’t know what he’s talking about. What am I supposed to feel?”

                The two stop at the end of the bridge. Jay listens to the bridge begin to turn back as Aiden looks at him, “That’s not going to work out. You need to know how to sense other psychics,” He turns to him, “It’s almost like a human pulse, it is always there given the person is alive. You can feel it if you concentrate.”

                “What does it feel like?” Jay asks, already trying to gain focus.

                “It’s…” He trails off, thinking, “A vibration.”

                “Oh! Like a beat?”

                “…Yes. Like a chord of music. You usually learn by taking the hand of another and trying to sense the pulse.”

                “Oh…” Jay grins, “Give me your hand then!”

                “No.” Aiden says bluntly, turning on his heel and heading toward the large building in the distance.

                Jay drops his arm, “Why not?” He whines, following after him as quickly as possible.       

                “Because. If you haven’t felt an Aura before, mine isn’t the one to start with,” He anticipates Jay’s next question again, glancing back at him, “A powerful Aura can have negative effects if you aren’t used to the feeling of one.”

                “How do you know that’s what happens?” Jay asks, “Is it from experience or something?”

                Aiden watches him, his eyes emerald in the light of the sun, “Yes.”

                He disappears behind a boxcar. Jay sighs, somehow even more confused than before. He follows, seeing him step inside the metal box.

                Jay observes the moldy looking mattress and trash, “I’m guessing this isn’t what it seems either.” He says as the boxcar rattles upward, “Of course.”

                They wait in silence, Jay remembers in the moment about his question, he asks gently, “Why don’t you trust Wick?” 

                Aiden opens his mouth, but closes it, deciding against something.

                “Listen, whatever you are hiding from me I think I can take it…” Jay says, tapping his shoulder when he is silent again, “Please, just tell me.”

                Aiden shoves open the boxcar door, “Jay…”

                _“Fuck!”_

                This makes both men turn toward the nearby railing. Jay limps past the older man, the small, dark hallway opening up into an enormous warehouse. Sunlight barely shines through the tinted windows. He looks down at the sound of another curse, seeing the two strangers from before.

                The man he remembers is named Damien. He sits at the edge of a table, half his shirt peeled back. He grips a rag to his shoulder, the cloth dyed scarlet.

                “Calm down, I’m almost done,” The woman says, smiling almost too kindly. She is sitting behind him on the table.

                “You said that seven pieces ago, sweetheart,” Damien growls through his teeth.

                “Did I? Well now I’m sure,” She lifts her hand. Jay can just barely see a piece of shiny, bloody metal appear from the back of his shoulder.

                “God…dammit,” Damien scoffs, gripping the edge of the table.

                “What happened?” Aiden says from behind, stepping past Jay and down a set of metal stairs. Jay stays where he is, his eyes not leaving the rather ghastly wound.

                “Well, what do you _think_ happened, Pearce?” Damien asks viciously.

                The woman looks up, “Our friend here got shot after engaging a few more cops then he could handle.” She smirks at Damien, who rolls his eyes.

                “Well, when you claim oh so modestly that you will take the fifty cops on one side of the street, I decided to be the gentleman and take fifty-one, lest the lady got exhausted.”

                “I was joking, you were over your head.”

                “I wouldn’t be ‘over my head’ if I wasn’t under the strict rule of the Fox,” He glares at Aiden, “Tell me again how violence doesn’t match with violence?”

                Aiden raises an eyebrow, “So, you got shot…actually listening to me?”

                “Yeah, and it was a scatter bullet to— _fuck!”_ He curses, his eyes shutting. Jay squeaks, ducking as bits of metal fly off a nearby table, zipping past his head.

                When he stands back up, all three psychics are staring up at him. He shifts uncomfortably, “Ah, hey…”

                “Oh, so you finally got your kidnapping done, took you long enough,” Damien says toward Aiden, “I hope he was worth it.”

                “Well, sadly the bullet missed your heart. So no, he wasn’t worth it,” The woman says curtly, sliding a first aid kit closer to her.

                “You know, you can just tell me you love me any time.”

                “You’re adorable, really.”

                Aiden moves to the table, taking the kit from her. He whispers to her. When the woman nods, she looks over at Jay, slipping off the table, “Follow me, Jay.”

                Jay nods, going down the stairs and starts to follow her. He hears Damien speak in a grumble, “Sure, give Pearce the job of fixing this.”

                “Oh, you’ll probably survive. Probably,” Aiden speaks back with little sympathy.

                “My name is Clara, just to let you know,” The woman says in front of him. She smiles pleasantly, “I hope Aiden didn’t scare you. He tends to do that.”

                “No…he didn’t scare me at all,” Jay lies, returning her smile.

                “That’s good, He is honestly not that terrifying,” She says before leading him into a separate room, “I’m sorry but this is all we have. I didn’t exactly plan for this.

                Jay looks around the small room, “It’s fine, really. At least this room has a window.” He looks at the dusty shelves and mismatched items with a sigh, “Just needs to be cleaned.”

                “I’m sorry, again. This is probably a bit strange for you.”

                Jay laughs, “More like amazing. This is the most excitement I’ve had in…well, in my whole life…” He trails off, looking at Clara, “I’ll get used to it.”

                He looks to his stomach as it suddenly whines loudly. He never realized how hungry he was. He looks back at the woman sheepishly.

                She smirks, joking, “Hold on, I’ll see if I’m allowed to feed you.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Wick walks through the territory of the Brandon air docks, contemplating his death to the most excruciating possible to the most merciful.

                He is never one to cower in a corner, even when it is facing death. He’s seen far too much to be afraid. Then again, having his bones crushed into dust isn’t pleasant to think about in the slightest. Neither is getting shot in the head or his neck snapped.

                No matter how creative, he isn’t going to survive the next hour.

                As he crosses through a guarded gate, he sees a familiar figure. With a barely hidden scowl he steps to Iraq, “Out of all the people I was really hoping it wasn’t you,” He says with obvious malice, “So is this going to be a formal affair, or are you just going to pop me in the head right now?”

                Iraq narrows his eyes, scoffing, “Oh, I wish.”

“You shouldn’t wish for people to die, that’s unhealthy,” Wick says blankly, barely caring at this point.

“Quinn is here.”

Wick stares, the smallest bit of anxiousness skipping past his heart, “So it _is_ a formal affair. Fine. Lead the way.”

Iraq makes sure to keep a steady glare as he turns and heads toward one of the hangers. Wick follows, knowing his clock was ticking. If Quinn was here, there must be some type of information he is interested to know before he kills him. It is only what happens to every failure that dares walk back. He supposed he should feel shameful, but he only feels a hallow sense of bitterness.

This failure he had is a minor one, at least in his mind. His only mission was to find out about the Fox, which is a task all in itself. It was like asking atheist to find God and expect to be enlightened. _Finding_ the Fox was separate from _learning_ about him. He knew from the get go that it wasn’t going to go well, but it wasn’t like he could have refused.

Then, he learned about Jay.

Jay, just a normal, everyday powerhouse stored in a little, mousy body of ignorance. It could almost bring the right people to tears it was so beautiful. What made it almost heavenly? The Fox was after him.

Within the hanger, guards are everywhere. Most paid no attention to the two of them, but some decide to stare, specifically at Wick. He ignores the pairs of eyes, focusing on the group beyond.

Lucky Quinn stands among them, Wick could sense the Aura immediately. It is far, far different than the Fox’s. The Fox’s was like getting caught in a hurricane. A raging, brilliant thing that is almost completely overwhelming to the thoughts. Quinn’s could only be described like the eye of the storm, so eerily peaceful, the pulse calm and slow. It is deceiving, Wick knows from experience.

He catches Wick’s gaze with a smile, but says nothing. At this point, the end of the Fox’s many swords felt more and more appealing by the second.

Wick doesn’t speak, waiting to be told to. He remembers watching other victims babble and whine for mercy after crippling failures, Wick isn’t going to be that kind of corpse. He’d rather die with his pride, it is all he had nowadays.

“You’re so calm, I’m not surprised,” Quinn speaks, leaning against his cane. Iraq steps away, but watches Wick suspiciously.

“I’ve already accepted my end, sir. I didn’t complete my task,” Wick says carefully.

Quinn does not acknowledge the comment, looking at him. His eyes are mismatched, faded from old age, “Tell me what you know.”

Wick sucks in a breath, speaking his experiences with efficiency, trying to get it over with. The more he stood idly, the more he anticipated, and he didn’t want to anticipate. He wanted it to come quick and without hesitation.

“Jay B. Marcowicz,” Quinn chuckles quietly, “I know his father…so you believed our Fox was tracking him?”

“He was following us. My plan was to lead Jay here but I couldn’t with him possibly so close. I brought him to a protest instead. I made him start a fight and that brought the Fox right out,” Wick explains, “Just…in the middle of everything. He picked up the kid and ran off.”

Quinn is quiet for a moment, before asking, “Why do you think that is?”

Wick takes a second to answer, not exactly anticipating the question, “The kid had a powerful aura. I assume he was getting his hands on him before anyone else could. Jay is ignorant about psychics and really the world in general so that I can assume…” He trails off, he didn’t want to, but he did.

“Is there something else?” He asks it politely, but Wick knew he demanded everything.

Wick sighs, “I kept track of Jay’s emotions when I was with him. Most of it was confusion, some frustration, a bit of anger. When I mentioned the Fox at any point there was a point of…” he tries to grasp the right word, “affection.”

Iraq catches on quickly, sneering, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Wick looks over at him, “I’m not. I’m being serious. You think I’m lying?”

“Wick, does the boy still trust you?”

The purple-haired psychic looks back at Quinn, mentally scolding himself for getting distracted by Iraq, “Yeah, he does. Not for long though. The Fox wasn’t tricked for a second. And I think he knows I killed the mother…”

“You killed Jay’s mother then…now why would you do that?”

Wick clears his throat quietly, forcing himself not to look away from the old man, “I wasn’t going to, but she panicked when I tried to put her to sleep. It is my fault, I lost control.”

“It was an accident then.” Quinn says.

Wick frowns, “Ah, yes…it was.”

“Then you have an excuse the next time you speak with him.”

The young psychic stares, trying to process this, “The next time…?”

                He almost completely ignores the comment, “Who is working with the Fox? Anyone?”

                Wick quickly remembers the two he met at the protest, “Damien Brenks…he’s definitely working with him. There was a woman as well, I don’t know her name.”

                Quinn hobbles forward, his cane echoing on the floor. He places a hand on Wick’s shoulder. It takes all of his will power to keep his muscles relaxed at the gentle touch. Quinn speaks quietly, “Then find out.”

                He lets go, turning back to his entourage. Wick steps back, registering what just happened. He is alive, he was just given another chance.

                He moves his way back toward the gate, stopping halfway, remember a final detail. He speaks quickly, “Aiden…”

                There is a pause, Quinn speaking behind him, “What was that?”

                Wick puts his hands in his pockets, looking back over, “The Fox. His name is Aiden.”

He walks out into the dying sunlight. He feels like he just walked across a mine field and was just barely spared an explosion. He knew there were no chances after this, he got lucky. Ridiculously lucky.

He isn’t going to mess this up. Not this time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn you beautiful people, the more chapters the write, the more I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. As I said in the past chapters I’m beginning to improvise, although most of my best chapters come from that XD.   
>  But HUZZAH for FILLAR! Yeah, there isn’t that much excitement to be had in this chapter, but all stories have to have at least one of these so, enjoy!

Morning came early to Jay, a bit too early for his liking but he couldn’t exactly sleep well when he didn’t have a bed. His neck and back ached from the attempt to do so. Clara had given him several pillows and a blanket before proceeding to scold Aiden for making him sleep on the floor. Jay couldn’t say he enjoyed it, but his kidnapping seems more impromptu with every minute he spends there.

                He looks over at a rusted clock on the wall, it is almost six in the morning. Almost. However, despite the ridiculous time frame, he could hear the hissing sound of a blowtorch. With far too much effort than he can give himself credit for, he pulls himself up, shuffling out of the room.

                His ankle gives him less trouble than yesterday, luckily. He is getting sick of the inability to move quickly, especially after what had happened. He wonders idly about the noise of the blowtorch as he enters the main area of the bunker. Part of him expects it to be Aiden making the racket. Jay didn’t exactly ignore his face, there were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in a week.

                However, when he looks over at the flashing light sparking from the far side of the room, he sees Damien. He’s leaning over the table from before, except now it’s filled with tools, wires, and strange bits of metal Jay can’t identify. He steps closer, Damien is busy melding something to a steel rod, tinted goggles protecting his eyes. Jay looks back down at the table, picking up a chunk of golden metal.

                “Drop it,” Damien suddenly says, making Jay drop the bit with little caution back on the table. He looks over at the older man as he sighs, “You are way too jumpy.”

                “You weren’t paying attention,” Jay says “I thought you didn’t notice me.”

                “I didn’t,” He says, pulling off his goggles, “You snuck up on me. I just didn’t care until you started touching my shit.”

                “Sorry…I’m used to people not noticing.”

                “Most people won’t. You can use it to your advantage if you weren’t so helpless,” He starts to pull he goggles back but Jay stops him. He wants to be irritated by his comment but he couldn’t ignore how depressingly true it was.

                “Aiden says I need to learn how to read Auras…”

                “You can’t read those? Damn, you really are—“

                “Helpless _, I know_ ,” Jay huffs, “Just let me try and sense yours. And don’t say I can’t, please, I’m sick of being useless.”

                Damien watches him, a small smirk appearing on his face, “You sound like Pearce back when he wasn’t the Fox.”

                Jay pauses, assuming he means Aiden. He had mentioned in the alley that he and Damien used to be friends. He almost forgot about that. Then again, they didn’t act much like they were friends before, at least Aiden didn’t act like it. He looks at Damien, “How do you know him?”

                “I taught him everything he knows,” He says anything but modestly, “Though he would never admit that to anyone.”

                “So he was like me?”

                “More…voluntarily useless than you. He didn’t want to use his gift, it was ridiculous,” He explains, “Then Lena happened, and then he showed up at my doorstep.”

                “Lena?” Jay repeats the name, a part of him tinging with worry. Was that a girlfriend he had? It sounds like something happened to her.

                Damien takes one look at his poorly hidden expression and laughs, setting the blowtorch down and pinching the bridge of his nose. Jay pouts, crossing his arms, wondering what exactly he was laughing at.

                “That face…so tragic,” He chuckles, “ _Lena_ was his niece, kid. Calm down.”

                Jay stiffens, “What do you—“

                He stops as Damien holds out a hand, “You said you wanted to feel an Aura?”

                “Y…yeah, but—“

                The older man takes his hand, looking at him, “You feel anything? Concentrate, don’t focus on what you see, just what you feel.” He speaks as if he has said it a thousand times over, the repetition and firmness of a teacher. Jay didn’t think he could accomplish that kind of tone. Regardless, he does as he says, trying to feel the pulse that Aiden spoke of.

                After a couple silent moments Jay sighs, beginning to let go, “I can’t feel anything…”

                Damien pulls away, “What did Aiden tell you?”

                “He said that it was like a vibration…”

                “Don’t listen to him. To _Pearce_ it feels like a vibration. To _Pearce_ Auras are just what they are, the source of power. The stark definition. That’s all he likes, the literal.” It is almost as if the man was trying to tell Jay something more about Aiden than just how he felt Auras. However, he only nods in comprehension.

                Damien holds his hand out again, “Try it again. Don’t pay attention to Aiden. You aren’t Aiden. I don’t think anyone could be him if they tried.”

                Jay takes his hand, remembering what Wick told him about Visionaries. They work better with their eyes closed. Experimentally, he does this, relaxing.

                He doesn’t know how much time passes before he feels it. It is slow, lingering, almost serene; a subtle and low beating. He is surprised about this until a sharp pulse sends goose bumps on his skin, his muscles tingling and his blood growing cold as ice to the bone. He lets go with a gasp, his crystal eyes wide.

                Damien chuckles, turning back to his metal work, “That’s what Aiden did. I heard a Bone Devil’s aura can give you nightmares for weeks.”

                Jay stares, pouting slightly, “And I thought you were starting to be nice to me.”

                “I was. I almost respected you for a moment there, had to stop before I got on everyone’s good side,” He says, picking up the blowtorch, “Pearce is outside, by the way. You think _I_ was up early…” he trails off muttering gibberish.

                “Ok…” Jay begins to retreat toward the stairs, stopping. He looks back over at Damien, “What is my Aura like?”

                Damien looks back at him, smirking and pulling down his goggles, “Ever gotten struck by lightning, kid?”

                “I can’t say I have,” Jay responds, really despising thunderstorms.

                “Well, think of that,” he says, “think of that a thousand times over.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Aiden watches the sun rise every day. He is not much of a sleeper, not even as a child. Eventually there is a numbness he hits; a broken cog that keeps running even when he’s at his most exhausted. He sits at the top of the boxcar graveyard at every dawn, it is where he is at his most peaceful; watching the sunlight break through the steam.

                His muscles stiffen as he senses an Aura moving toward him, turning around. A small figure is approaching the stacks of boxcars, turning around, clearly looking for something.

                “Jay…” Aiden mutters to himself as he watches the younger man bumble across the lot. There is something so fragile about him that Aiden couldn’t stand. He barely knew the kid and could barely understand him. However, whatever and whoever the psychic was, Aiden had the spontaneous, almost _desperate_ need to protect him. He could not explain it, could not rationalize it. It sends his mind into a spiral at every opportunity and he hated it.

                He lifts himself up, jumping down from his lookout. Jay scared easily, like a mouse. He tries to make as much of a racket as possible crossing toward him. Luckily, he turns, looking relieved that he is there. His eyes were brighter than any psychic Aiden could remember; electric blue. There was still blooming innocence in him, something that broke through his memories and stabbed at his heart.

                “You like appearing from nowhere, don’t you?” Jay jokes with an awkward smile, “Damien said you were out here.”

                “He was right,” Aiden says, pointing up to where he was, “I was up there. What are you doing up?”

                “I was sleeping on the floor. I wasn’t exactly comfortable,” He says, but somehow his tone was not condescending, he was simply stating a fact. He is being polite, something Aiden didn’t deserve from him. He ripped him away from everything he knew but the younger man seemed so strangely OK with it.

                “And you decided to come out here?”

                “I want to learn.”

                Aiden raises an eyebrow, “Now?”

                “I don’t know if you can remember…but it isn’t very good for my self-esteem when I keep getting called useless every five seconds. I want to at least be able to protect myself,” Jay crosses his arms, “And you said you would help me.”

                Aiden watches him. There is electricity in his brilliant eyes, determined to learn. The older man could not ignore it.

                “Alright. We start now then,” He looks up at the sky still awakening, “I apologize in advance.”

                Jay doesn’t seem concerned, “Why do you say that?”

                The only thing Aiden could do was laugh at the situation, “You know what, you’ll find out.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

In two weeks’ time Jay knew _exactly_ what Aiden was apologizing for.

                He remembers the first time seeing the Fox in the alleyway, splashed in gold, a shadow over his eyes. At that point Jay was already scared considering the situation of being held hostage. Back at that moment he found the man scary.

                Now he is the Devil reincarnated.

                Within two weeks he has used more physical energy than he as every _produced_ in the twenty-two years he has been on the planet. Aiden had told him he needed strength externally before even thinking about using his powers. He didn’t know he meant it so very literally. By the second day Clara forced Aiden to get him an actual bed amidst bickering that he was pushing Jay far too hard. Damien was present for almost none of the activity, seeming immersed in his metal work. However, he did take some time to laugh or make snobbish comments as the day went on.

                Now, Jay is sitting on his bed, holding a shiny, plush headphone against his ear as he watches his computer. He listens, ignoring the excruciating soreness in his muscles with little success. He adjusts a couple sounds, not even touching the keys, letting his mind work as he did at the club. He listens to the creeping rhythm with a smile.

                He sees a shadow appear in the doorway, glancing up at Aiden, slowly moving the headphone away, “Whatever it is, I really don’t want to run again…please?”

                Aiden had made him run the whole length of the island. He barely ran half before he began plotting a complicated assassination for the Fox.

                “What are you doing?” He asks curiously, it wasn’t a demand. It is the gentlest Jay has heard him talk in a while.

                “Oh…it’s music,” Jay answers, “My parents got me interested in it to try and curb my interest in my powers.” He listens to the rhythm, doodling the notes into a journal next to him.

                Aiden watches him do this, walking further into the room, “Did it help?”

                Jay grins, “Not really. I actually work better when I use my power. My brain has always worked faster than my body.”

                “That’s been evident the past few weeks.”

                The younger psychic rolls his eyes, “I’m sorry that I’m not a built in athlete, Pearce.”

                Aiden raises an eyebrow at the mentioning of his last name, “You’ve been talking to Damien far too much.”

                “He let me sense his Aura, it was creepy. Not hard to replicate though,” He says, holding a hand above the computer, the keys moving, adjusting as he holds the headphone with his other hand.

                “Replicate?” Aiden repeats, questioning.

                “I liked the beat, so I made it into music. Here,” He holds out the headset. Aiden steps forward, crouching next to the bed and taking the headset from him.

                Jay watches him listen, observing his face. He is a ridiculously handsome man if a bit scruffy. His face is rugged but somehow shaped so attractively. There are a couple of scars riddling his jawline, under stubble. His emerald eyes dart toward him, as if sensing being watched. Jay quickly turns away, a blush forming on his cheeks.

                “It is an interesting sound,” Aiden says without much true compliment, “You got that from Damien’s Aura?”

                “Yeah, I did…” Jay says, taking the headset from him.

                “You really like music.”

                “It’s life to me…” Jay smiles, looking at what he created, “It got me through a lot when I was younger. I know you don’t trust Wick but…I’d love to go to that club again.”

                Aiden sighs, standing. He has stress written on his face like a father speaking to his son about a curfew. His eyes dart up, thinking. They always seem to dart, they never linger for too long.

                “Alright, I’ll make you a deal,” Aiden says, “Because I don’t believe you are ready.”

                Jay groans, rolling back on his bed, “I’m not a kid, you know.”

                “You act like one.”

                Jay rolls up, standing from the bed, “We aren’t that far apart. And if my parents let me out of their little bubble I could possibly be a bit more attractive.”

                Aiden pauses, chuckling, “Attractive?”

                Jay bites his lip, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean _attentive._ ”

                The Fox looks at him curiously, but luckily he accepts the excuse, “When you can move the bridge on your own, you can go.”

                The younger psychic thinks of the heavy bridge. It looks easy enough, but it must be harder than it looks if that was the deal. However, this must mean he’s going to finally practice his powers. It makes his sore muscles feel a bit more relaxed.

                “Deal.” Jay accepts with a nod. As an afterthought, he holds out his hand, “Handshake?”

                Aiden looks at his hand, smirking as he says “Nice try.”

                Jay smiles back, dropping his hand, “When do I get to sense your Aura again?”

                “When you can handle it,” He says, “Meet me outside in ten minutes.” He stands, walking out. Jay sits back at the edge of the bed, raking a hand through his hair.

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Clara looks up from her computer at a god awful cracking noise. Damien was always one to crack his knuckles, but right when she showed annoyance he proceeded to crack every muscle in his hand like it was nothing. She wonders now if he just lived to pester her, then again, he is much more bearable as an ally than as an enemy.

                She didn’t care about him. Not at all.

                However, she did care about the noise, looking up to give him a vicious glare. He looks back at her, unaffected, “I know it bothers you, sweetheart.”

                “I told you not to call me that. And if you crack them again I’m going to cut them off.”

                “Well then, let’s not get hasty,” He says with a smirk, “I need my hands.”

                “Then don’t crack them like that.”

                The man raises his hands in surrender before dropping back to his work. Clara sighs, “What have you been doing over there anyway?”

                “I’m working on something. And no, I’m not saying what it is.”

                “Oh, so it’s a surprise then?”

                “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

                They work in silence again for a while. Clara waits for something to come crashing through the window, knowing Aiden is helping Jay with his powers. Aiden has been relentless with him over the past couple weeks, it seems almost obsessive.

                “So, when do you think the kid is going to tell him?” Damien asks casually whilst fiddling with a small electronic piece.

                Clara looks up, “Tells him what?”

                The man raises an eyebrow, as if it were obvious, “I mean…he’s not very subtle, but I don’t expect him to just randomly kiss him—“

                “Wait…what are you talking about?” Clara says slowly.

                Damien watches her confusion, laughing suddenly, “Wait…you haven’t noticed? _Really?_ Am I the only one?”

                “Just tell me what you mean!”

                “Oh please…” Damien rolls his eyes, setting his project down, “The kid is completely captivated by Pearce. I mean _completely_ infatuated. Why do you think he acts so weird around him?”

                Clara processes this, starting to make sense of everything, “Are you sure?”

                “I thought it was obvious! Clearly you two have observation problems.”

                “That can’t be a good thing…” She says quickly, “Can it?”

                Damien shrugs, strangely neutral, “I think it’s hilarious. God only knows what Pearce is thinking about it. If he even gets it.”

                “You don’t have a problem with it?”

                “Do you?” He has a challenging tone in his voice that Clara does not care for.

                “No. I don’t.”

                “So it means you aren’t Aiden’s.”

                “No!”

                Damien smirks, “That makes things easier, doesn’t it?”

                Clara resists the urge to throw a knife at him, picking up her work. The revelation about Jay is something she had to think about. She leaves the room, wondering what Aiden must be feeling.

                               

               


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got done listening to Mr. Brenks’ audio logs and it only furthered my opinion that he should not have been the “all-time supreme villain” in all this. Yes, he did some shit he shouldn’t have but to Hell if it wasn’t at least a little justified. I’ll spare you beautiful people a rant for your own safety. But the cosmos feel right in the world when I make Damien an ally dammit!   
> Well, after that, read something that has nothing to do with Damien! Enjoy!

“Mr. Marcowicz?”

                Peter looks up from the papers he wasn’t reading, staring across the meeting room table at a red-haired woman watching him with concern. She is familiar, but for the life of the man he couldn’t remember what branch she resides in. Her name is Sandra; he is sure about that.

                “Yes…I lost myself for a moment,” He says, trying to keep his voice even. The last couple of weeks felt like a heinous nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He remembers waking up in the middle of his living room, his son gone and his wife’s body lying beside him. His _wife._ He couldn’t process it immediately, her beautiful skin being so pale and lifeless. She looked asleep, peaceful. It broke his heart even more knowing that she would never wake up, never be able to work with what he couldn’t.

A psychic killed her, he knew this. The man stood right in front of him, but despite every conceivable effort he could not remember anything beyond the gender. His image is a faded haze in his mind, almost as if he was forced not to recognize it. Then again, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

                His wife is gone, yes, and so is his mess of a son. He guessed that he ran off with the murderer without a second thought. He isn’t surprised by this either.

                He always wanted an excuse to say his son was inherently evil. He begged for a reason to cart him off to some facility so he wouldn’t have to deal with him. The man couldn’t get himself to do it, however. There is a grinding, painfully reasonable part of himself that knew he couldn’t hate the boy. Jay was his son, there was no way around it. His mother…she just wanted him to be normal. She always wanted children, she yearned to love him. Love him like any other human. Because of this, Peter couldn’t believe in full confidence that Jay left because he reveled in causing destruction. He left because he knew he could be free from his struggle. The way they raised him was inane, but it was safe. Peter couldn’t fully regret what they did, but he could a little.

                Jay is not evil. He is a rebellious, bitter and immature but not evil.

                Peter briefly notices Sandra exchange looks with the others on the board before standing, “May I talk to you…in private, please?”

                The man stares almost dumbly. He has not been able to focus on anything the past week. He heard about a psychic protest going badly, ending in an appearance from the Fox. He remembers Jay talking about him many times with a starry-eyed gaze, speaking about a menace with such enthusiasm…

                He heard that the mysterious Fox was seen carrying a young man under his arm.

                The man remembers he has been asked to talk and stands, “Yes, or course.”

                He follows Sandra out of the room and down the hall. There are several sound proof meeting rooms in the Blume headquarters. They enter the farthest one down that sat empty. Sandra turns to him once they get inside, “I’m really worried about you Peter…you haven’t spoken for the past hour…or at all really for the last week…”

                “I’m know, Sandra, I know,” Peter says, “I’m just out of it.”

                “You’re not just ‘out of it’!” She says, “You need to stop coming to work, Peter. After everything that has happened you can’t stress yourself out.”

                “I’m not going to just stop, Sandra!” His voice spikes in irritation. One look at her expression makes him take a deep breath, relaxing his tone before continuing, “I won’t just give up. I need to keep researching…”

                “We can help you,” the woman says, touching his shoulder, “We’ll help you through this. But now you need to go home. I can tell the board, they will understand—“

                “Sandra—“

                “Go. And get some rest, you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

                That’s because he hasn’t, but Peter didn’t want to leave. The events of that night, all the news coverage of it, the interviews…everything drove him to the brink of his sanity. He doesn’t want to rest, he wanted to find a way to stop the menace of the psychic race. However, Sandra is desperate, her eyes containing worry that a lot of his coworkers shared.

                “Fine…I’ll go,” Peter agrees quietly to the happy reaction of the woman.

                “Thank you…” She says before stepping to the door. She turns back to him, her face soft and kind, “Take it easy, alright?” She leaves him alone in the room.

                Peter takes a moment in the quiet to sit, raking his hands through his dark hair. Distantly he wonders where his son disappeared to. Jay may claim to be better off on his own but he isn’t. He was sheltered his whole life, he knows nothing about the world. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was already dead as well.

                Lost in thought he just barely hears the door open and close. Thinking it to be Sandra he looks up only to see someone completely different.

                He is a dark-skinned man, tall and young. He looks from someplace in the Wards from how his dark hair is styled in some ridiculous fashion. His eyes are black, but something about them is bright and unnerving. He stands, a hand placed on the table, the other holding a lit cigarette.

                “Who are you?” Peter asks, instinctively standing and stepping back.

                “Listen, I want to make this quick,” The stranger says casually. He had an accent, but it is light, as if he were trying to hide it, “You have a psychic problem?”

                Taking it as vivid sarcasm immediately, Peter scoffs, “I’ve had that problem for twenty-two years.”

                “I can help you,” The stranger speaks simply. His voice is smooth and strangely eloquent for the person who owned it, “I just need you to deal with something for me.”

                There were more basic questions Peter could ask, like how the Hell the stranger got into the headquarters in the first place. However, all he could hear was that the man had an answer to the psychics, and at this point he is willing to listen to anyone.

                “What is your problem then?” He asks.

                The stranger seems pleased with his question, smiling brilliantly, “You’ve heard of the Fox, haven’t you?”

                “Of course…” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice as he speaks, “Who hasn’t?”

                “He’s just…being a bit of a problem.”

                “That’s a gross understatement,” Peter says, laughing shortly, “He may be stopping crimes but that’s just so the cops don’t get on him immediately. Now look what has happened…”

                “I completely agree,” The stranger says, keeping his smile as he rolls a chair to him, sitting himself down, “Let me tell you a bit about psychics.”

                Peter slowly joins him at the table, his eyes were grey. The man swore they were black but he tosses the thought aside, listening carefully as the other man spoke. He details each kind of psychic, ones that make objects float, others that control the body and some the mind. Peter asks why he cannot remember the face of his wife’s killer. The stranger responds by saying that certain Will Benders, as they are called, can cause amnesia. It makes the man sick to think that his mind is being tampered with by some freak.

                The man speaks finally of a psychic’s weakness. High frequencies beyond human hearing. It seems like such an odd weakness, but at this point he didn’t think the stranger would lie.

                “Why are you telling me all this? Why didn’t you go to anyone else?” Peter asks carefully.

                “You seemed like you needed the information the most,” The stranger stands, “Name’s Iraq, by the way.”

                He moves past Peter. The man hears the door open and close, the footsteps silent inside the sound proof room. Peter sits, staring off at the opposite wall, “I’ve got what I need,” He speaks to himself, “I can stop this.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Wick exits Blume headquarters with quick strides, crushing the rest of his cigarette under his boot. He didn’t often smoke, but just thinking of being the image of Iraq made his head ache enough to need one. He didn’t bothering covering the accent with much effort, Peter clearly couldn’t remember that he had one. The amnesia he gave him took a lot of energy to pull off but it made things far easier in the long run.

                As for changing into Iraq, well, he hates the bastard, and he needed one hell of a scapegoat for what he just did.

                The young man treads down the long, dirt driveway, whistling nonchalantly. Pawnee is a bizarre place to have a high security psychic research facility, but he isn’t complaining. He enjoys the city far better, however, and soon. He needs to locate Jay and quickly and move his way back on his side. He hopes to every God available that the Fox hasn’t done too much to his ignorance, but he knew his prayers are in vain. It had been two and a half weeks since he disappeared. If the Fox were to do anything, it would be making him less useless.

                “How do you outsmart a fox?” Wick mutters to himself as he walks, laughing at the idea, “You don’t.”

                His only chance was that Jay got close to the man. Jay may be stronger than before but he has the unfortunate trait of faith. If he sees Wick again, he’ll hear him out. If he could get Jay on his side, the Fox may follow, even if it is reluctant.

                He keeps this in mind, strolling to a nearby bike parked at the side of the road. “Where are you, Jay?” He questions to himself, the bike roaring to life at the wave of his hand, “Where has the little mouse gone?”

                He shoots off down the road, leaving fading dust in his path.

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Jay is alone, a steady and loud beat blaring in his earphones, drowning any sort of natural existence. Beyond, the bridge leading to the city. The sun is rather relentless today, the heat beating at his back as he stares down his objective.

                He finds it hard to imagine that it had been three weeks. Aiden is convinced that he is not ready, but despite actually having living conditions he craves the city again. He barely explored a quarter of it before he was pulled into all this. He wants to discover everything this city had to offer, even if it is at his own expense. He isn’t useless now.

                Finally pulling himself from his desire, he looks back at the bridge. He’s seen Aiden move it a dozen times with a simply wave of his hand. Clara sometimes makes a gesture with her foot when her hands refused to leave her pockets. Damien literally doesn’t do anything, as if the bridge feared his disappointment.

                Now Jay stands in the same spot they always placed themselves at, sneaking out when they were all busy. He speaks to the object, “Alright…I can do this…you can move for me.”

                He imagines the thing laughing at him like the simple idea was completely ridiculous. It could fuel him really, he always worked better when everyone is against him. He couldn’t say why. He supposes that it is all the sweeter when defeating opposition that think of him equivalent to a speck of dust.

                “Or a mouse,” Jay speaks his thoughts with a voice like poison. He now focuses everything toward the bridge. He closes his eyes, his music still mindlessly blasting loud enough to kill any normal eardrums. Aiden told him to keep his eyes open when using his power, but he couldn’t get Wick’s idea out of his mind. Visionaries work better with their eyes closed. He practiced alone in his room like that, when Aiden wasn’t looking. A tinge of guilt went through him every time, but he continued through it.

                He expects the bridge to not respond, he had already readied himself for failure as he imagines the metal turning. He remembers the bridge taking a good thirty seconds to turn fully, he didn’t care that he couldn’t hear it move. He waits, dropping his arm after the chorus of his song ends. He feels distinctly less energetic, perhaps that is a good sign.

                His muscles tense as a hand touches his shoulder. He whips around, grabbing the jacketed arm opening his eyes, staring back at Aiden. He looks back at him, pulling his hand off his wrist. His lips are moving but Jay couldn’t hear a word his is saying. Aiden seems to know this, ripping his headphones off with little gentleness, “What are you…dammit, Jay…” He says, tossing the headphones aside.

                Despite never hearing Aiden stammer like he did, Jay is more concerned with his headphones being cast aside so recklessly, “Hey! I use those a lot, you know.”

                “Jay…” Aiden begins again but fails to continue, simply pointing behind him. The younger psychic turns slowly, the bridge completely turned.

                A huge grin erupts on his face, “I…I did it! I moved it!” He laughs, turning back to his teacher, “I told you I could do it!”

                Aiden isn’t nearly as excited as Jay. He conveys more anger than anything else, “Why did you try and move it without me being here? You could have hurt yourself.”

                Jay’s grin falls slightly, “But I didn’t! I mean…I am a little tired I guess but…why are you so mad?”

                “I’m not…mad,” Aiden sighs, “You’re not ready to leave, Jay.”

                A flash of stinging irritation burns Jay’s chest, “Excuse me? You’re the one that said that if I move the bridge _on my own_ that I could go into the city! You promised that.”

                “I didn’t think you would be able to move it so quickly.”

                “So you underestimated me,” Jay says slowly, unable to hide the acidity in his voice, “No fucking surprise there.”

                “I didn’t…you don’t understand, Jay.”

                “Holy shit,” Jay laughs, it is cold and unforgiving, “You sound like every other person I had in my life. ‘Jay doesn’t _understand,_ Jay is _ignorant_ , Jay can’t survive on his own. You know what, out of all people I thought that you would get that I’m different. I’m not a fucking waste of time, I’m just as powerful as anyone here!”

                At this point, he couldn’t control what he is saying. He didn’t care who he is talking to or even how insulting any of it was. He is sick of it; of everything.

                “I’m not saying that you are weak, Jay. You need to calm down,” Aiden’s voice refused to raise, he is always so calm, so steady.

                “Why should I? Three weeks I’ve been with you and to Hell if you notice one damn thing about me. Do you notice anything? At all? Or are you just an emotionless asshole like everyone says you are?”

                Aiden narrows his eyes, “I’ll say it again. You need to calm down.”

                “Why should I?” It is a stupid question, but Jay is not in the mood now. He knew his powers go haywire when he is angry, but he didn’t care.

                “Because you’ll get yourself killed. That can’t happen.” The way Aiden says this is odd. There is a rough, clinging protectiveness in his voice. That isn’t what is odd, however. Jay has heard that enough times. It is the very small sense of weakness, as if saying it caused some world ending catastrophe.

                This makes Jay rethink himself, but the heat of his frustration is still brimming in him, “I’m not going to do anything stupid. I can walk around Chicago without you breathing down my neck.”

                “I seriously doubt that.”

                Jay’s eyes flare, speaking again before his mind thought otherwise, “Why don’t you trust me? Do you think I’ll end up like you niece?”

                He could see the older man’s muscles tighten, his eyes stricken. Jay forgot that he wasn’t actually supposed to know about the niece, but Damien spoke about her. Now, seeing the pure anguish in the Fox’s emerald eyes ripped at his heart, “Look…I didn’t mean…”

                He doesn’t finish his sentence, a sudden and powerful pain corrupting his stomach, as if someone punched him there with an iron fist. He wraps an arm around it, gasping away the rest of his apology. He looks back up at Aiden standing in same place, but his expression is fiery, “I don’t know how you know about her…but she has nothing to do with you. You are different. You are not her.”

                “I know I’m not…wait…what?” Jay grumbles out clumsily, trying decide what he meant by him being different. The pain he feels dissipates slowly, he releases himself, seeing Aiden walking away from him, “Wait…! Where are you going? What were you talking about?”

                Aiden stops, glancing back at him as if contemplating the meaning of the words himself. He then looks up at the sky, “It will storm soon. You should get back before then.”

                Jay’s frown deepens, “What?”

                But he doesn’t get an answer, the older psychic already heading back to the bunker. Jay wants to run after him, a tragedy happening in his heart. He needs to apologize, but his legs already head to the bridge. He pulls away from the sight of the Fox, moving across the bridge, the machine moving back as he exits on the other side. Jay rips at his thoughts, forcing himself to head forward, unrelenting.

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

The city is just as unfamiliar as Jay remembers it before. He feels rather exposed, however. He has contacts that he carries in his pocket, but being in the Bunker for weeks made him believe he needed to stay low. But, that is Aiden talking.

                Regardless, he stays in the crowds of people, avoiding police or any security-like figures. Eventually, a familiar sign shows up in the distance. The Ambrose Theater.

                “Oh…Dot ConneXion…” He mumbles to himself. It seems to be closed, probably only in operation at night. He curiously tests the door, finding it unlocked. Before he can slip inside someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns quickly, seeing a police officer standing behind him. He tries not to look nervous, clearing his throat, “Yeah, officer?”

                This officer seems to find Jay’s poorly hidden nerves amusing, giving him a friendly smile, “Calm down, kid. You aren’t in trouble. We are testing something out.”

                “Is it a delicious new recipe for the bake sale?” Jay jokes, trying to keep it innocent.

                “No…” the officer chuckles light-heartedly, making Jay relax a bit more, “Just try this on real quick, it’s a security measure, little earpieces to sound when there is danger nearby.”

                He holds out a small white earpiece, Jay takes it, a part of him interested in the idea. However, most of him knew that dangers probably included psychics.

                Despite this he takes the earpiece, cautiously placing it in, “What am I testing?”

                The officer is looking at a small sensor looking object, “Do you hear anything?”

                He could, there is a high pitched wailing in the device; it sounds like a malfunction of some kind. He looks at the officer, shrugging, “Nope.” He takes it out, handing it back to him, “I hope it works out, though.”

                The officer nods almost sympathetically, “Me too.”

                They go their separate ways, Jay entering the club. It is empty except for the sound of a mixing board. He follows it, stopping in the main factory-like room that he saw briefly before. There are only a couple people around looking like employees. One looks up at here, “Hey.”

                “The door was unlocked…” Jay finds himself saying.

                The employee is a pretty young woman, smirking at him, “Yeah. Didn’t you read the sign? Our last DJ bailed on us. You up for the job?”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Aiden picks up his swords without touching them, the objects floating toward him as he exits his room. His pace is rigidly quick as thunder bellows outside the Bunker.

                “I don’t know why you are so antsy, he’s been gone a couple hours,” Damien says, although his tone is amused, as if he knew exactly why Aiden is acting the way he is but not revealing it. He’s playing with a silvery object, plucking a string of leather from the table he has made a home on, “I’m sure the kid is fine.”

                “I have a bad feeling…” Aiden mumbles, not even caring about the tone, “And we didn’t leave on good terms. I don’t need him running off.”

                Clara is unnaturally quiet. She has been around Aiden for a couple of days, watching interaction between him and Jay with an odd attention. However, she speaks now, sounding like she really doesn’t want to, “Please don’t make me say it, Aiden.”

                “Say what?” The Fox is barely listening at this point.

                “She’s trying to say that I’m right,” Damien assists with a smirk, “He’ll come back.”

                “There is a chance he won’t,” Aiden retaliates blankly, thinking about the younger psychic with a startling amount of worry. Jay spoke about Lena, his niece. He wanted to break at least one part of him for speaking of her, but he knew he didn’t mean it. Jay is someone who insults without thinking, even if it be against him. He couldn’t be angry at him.

                “There is no stopping you then…” Clara sighs, “I don’t like this, Aiden…”

                “Then you have the same feeling I have, I’m going,” He says, heading up the stairs, “It won’t take me long.”

                “Don’t get killed, that will be disappointing,” Damien says passively just as Aiden leaves.

                Aiden wastes no time riding out into the city on his bike, thunder roaring ominously in the darkening sky. On his way he questions where Jay could possibly be.

                “Someplace familiar…” He thinks aloud, “Someplace he’s been before.”

                He stops the bike, turning around and back down the street, ignoring angry drivers as he heads straight toward Dot ConneXion. He stops at a light, his hands shaking as he floats there. He hears a sudden and shrill scream, his head darting to the sidewalk.

                A woman is collapsed on her knees, her hands on her head. She shakily rips something from her ear, throwing it at the officer before stumbling up and down the street.

Aiden watches several officers begin the pursuit after her. He turns back, remembering seeing a couple other cops with earpieces. The woman screaming…she had an Aura.

“That’s bad fucking news…” Aiden mutters. He kicks up, riding around the cars across the red light, “I need to find Jay.”

               


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long break, guys. I appreciate the comments about fast uploads but it probably won’t be so speedy anymore. I finally got a job and school will be starting soon, resulting in a rather sketchy amount of time to write well. Despite the limited amount of time I will spend as long as I need to make myself satisfied. That might take a bit, my lovelies! But hopefully you’ll understand my struggle.  
> Enjoy <3

The staff of Dot ConneXion sit around bobbing their heads or tapping feet. One of the men, Jay remembers his name being Leon, chuckles, “Damn, you made these yourself?”

“Yeah.” Jay says, unable to keep the pride from his voice. He _should_ be happy. He _shouldn’t_ be thinking of what had happened back at the bridge. He believed that showing the staff some of his tracks would distract him, but Aiden has corrupted his thoughts. He can only remember the expression he made when he mentioned that girl: Lena. It was so stupid of him. He barely knew who she had been and what she meant to Aiden. Although, the anguish that had flashed for those brief few seconds on his face was enough information for him.

“I didn’t think it would be this easy to find a good DJ,” Chelsea, a pretty blonde with hazel eyes and a hell of a friendly smile, says before spinning in her chair, “Let’s just hire him and be done with it.”

Sid raises a tattooed arm, “I second that. The quicker we can get this place back up to par the better.” He looks at Jay with a smirk, “Can you start tonight?”

“Um…” Jay hears himself say before realizing how much he truly wants to say yes. This is what he wants. Actually…it is the _second_ thing he wants.

“Aw, he’s stammering,” Chelsea pouts, “You seemed pretty excited before, kid.”

“I think he’s thinking of something else,” Leon says suddenly. He is the oldest of the group, and has clearly been through a lot. His right arm is cybernetic, spray-painted over multiple times. The way he moves it makes it seem like it has been there a long while. Half his face is taken over by metal as well, in a web-like pattern that it could almost seem like tattoo art from afar. Jay had asked about it, he said he was involved in things he should have, and that was it. Despite the metal, he is outrageously handsome, not Jay’s kind of handsome, but that way nonetheless.

He clearly knew people. Or at least has seen a lot of people if he works at a club like this. He looks at Jay expectantly, “So. When did you get your color, kid?”

Jay frowns, wishing people in this city could talk less of their vague, code language, “My color?”

“You’re wearing really shitty contacts,” Sid says, “You’re lucky we are decent individuals here.”

Jay stares between them all. Aiden had told him that there were many places that welcomed psychics as people. He said that they most likely had one psychic running the place. The young man wishes that he could read Auras just a bit better, he would have found it out much faster.

However, he reaches up, taking the contacts from his eyes, blinking several times, “I guess I wouldn’t be able to hide it…I use my powers when mixing the music.” He tries to be casual, like he’s been like this his whole life. He didn’t want to be known as clueless anymore.

Leon narrows his eyes, looking closer, “Holy shit, those are ridiculous. What the hell happened to you?”

Jay curses to himself, “Ok, what does that even mean?”

“You know, most psychics have their little ‘story’,” Chelsea explains, putting ‘story’ in air quotes, “How they got their powers maximized…I think, right?” She looks at Leon, who nods.

“I don’t know…I was just born with them. I thought all psychics were like that,” Jay says, glancing over at Leon, “You’re one…aren’t you?”

Again, the older man nods, getting off his seat, “Sid, get the door, alright?”

Sid nods, “Am I allowed to punch out the cops if they give me that damn earpiece again?”

“No, that would be just a bit too conspicuous.”

“Dammit, no fun in this place,” Sid jumps off his seat, disappearing around the corner. Jay thinks of asking about the earpiece, but decides it to be unimportant, following Leon to the bar.

“I’m surprised that color is just from birth. Your right that we all are born with bright eyes, but the brightest are from the most powerful…the brightest have _something_ broken,” Leon says, reaching over the bar for a bottle, pouring a glass and sliding it across the bar too Jay, “What’s your story?”

_What’s your story?_

Jay stares as he catches the glass, struck without explanation. What _is_ his story? Is it that he was sheltered his whole life? That isn’t what he story is. He refused to believe that is all he is. Then again, what else is there?

He lifts the glass to his lips, taking a sip. It is a bitter brand, or perhaps it was because he barely ever had the opportunity to drink, “I honestly have no idea.”

Surprisingly, Leon smiles at this, “You don’t have to say. I get it.”

Jay smiles back, sipping his drink. He hears Sid stepping back into the room, “Um…yeah…we have a visitor.”

Leon doesn’t bother looking, “Sid, we’re closed.”

“I know,” It wasn’t Sid’s voice. Jay whirls around, facing a pair of bright, green eyes.

“Aiden...!” Jay speaks, his muscles stiffening at the intensity of his look, “How did you…? Where did you…?”

“We’re leaving,” Aiden says, stepping closer to him, “Now.”

Jay stares back at him, feeling anger rooted deep in his thoughts. Aiden chased him down just to bring him back? That bunker is almost exactly like his past home now, Aiden is always pulling him back.

“No…” Jay speaks, strengthening the iron in his gaze to match Aiden’s.

The older man shakes his head, seeming to be suppressing something, “Jay…I’m serious. We need to leave.”

“What is going on here?” Leon looks at Jay, then at Aiden, “So that’s your name, huh…pretty ordinary for someone like you.”

Aiden addresses the man with little reaction, “You aren’t involved in this.”

“Well when the Fox enters my club I’d like to know what he wants with a fucking kid.”

Aiden narrows his gaze, “You’ve already involved yourself recognizing me.”

“I’m surprised more people don’t.”

“You overestimate.”

Jay feels someone tap his shoulder. He turns, Chelsea waving for him to follow her. He finds himself moving silently after her without any hesitation. Right as they enter a back room he hears a crash behind them, Chelsea cursing.

“God dammit. Your friend better not mess this place up. Why is he even here!?”

“It’s a long story,” Jay says miserably, hearing another loud, shattering sound as he climbs over broken up equipment. The club is in an old factory, the back rooms covered in rusted pipes and probably dangerous old machines shoved aside for the purpose of room.

“Well whatever it is, I hope he’s worth the effort,” She says, stopping just before another door, pulling a box over to him, “When you decide to come back, you better have one of these.”

Jay looks down at the box, it is full of masks. He crouches down, “A mask?”

“Yeah, so you won’t have to wear contacts. There are some cool ones in there. Be fast though, I don’t think Leon will last distracting that guy.”

The young man looks down at the masks, sifting through them. He hears another crash, wondering if Aiden was actually hurting Leon. He frowns at the thought, his hand touching a glass-like material. He pulls out a vibrant, electric blue mask. He turns it in his hand, realizing with peaking hilarity that it is shaped like a rat head.

“Yep. Taking this one.” Jay couldn’t help but laugh.

Chelsea raises an eyebrow, “That one?”

“This one.” Jay stands, slipping the mask on, the room tinting to blue, “Call it poetic justice.”

Chelsea chuckles, “I can’t say I know what you are talking about but whatever you’d like to call it. But this means you better come back.”

“I’ll find a way—“Both turn as they hear footsteps pounding down the hallway. Jay opens the door, staring out at the alley with broken fragments of frustration resurfacing from those few hours ago. He turns, shouting back down the way, “You’re going to have to catch me, Aiden!” The challenge in his voice is dreadfully genuine.

He can see Aiden now, jumping gracefully over some fallen machinery, his eyes deadly, “Jay, you’re not listening! You’re in danger here!”

“And how do you know? You always think I’m in danger, I can protect myself now! I don’t need your fucking help!”

“It isn’t like that!”

Jay is breathless now, looking at Chelsea, then back at him, “Bullshit…” he bursts out the door, running down the alley. There is a boom of thunder rolling through the darkened sky. Jay always hated thunderstorms, but here, here he surprisingly didn’t mind.

A small pipe explodes near him, spraying hot steam in his direction. Jay stumbles back, but keeps running. Aiden is far faster than him, he’ll catch up in a matter of seconds.

He turns, knocking a dumpster down in his path before turning the corner. Bolting into the street he pushes past the crowd, dodging cars racing by before stumbling in one piece to the other side of the street. He gasps, seeing a boardwalk ahead. He runs across it, his feet clanging on the metal surface. He stops halfway down, a wave a spontaneous nausea taking over his feeling. His head pounds like someone is hitting it with a hammer.

“Oh no…” Jay mumbles, knowing exactly the kind of feeling he is experiencing, “No…no not now.”

This is about the worst time to have a vision, but regardless of his struggle to pulls away the whole area begins to distort. He watches, everything melting away and reconstructing. He is baffled by the scale of the vision. Most of them were simply one or two images in and out of reality. However, this is far, far different. He shuts his eyes, fear brimming within him, the unfamiliarity unbearable.

_“Jay!”_ He hears Aiden’s voice, but it sounds like he’s shouting from the top of a mountain. He hears it over and over until it breaks away, replaced with something else.

“Lena!”

Jay’s eyes flicker open, lifting his head. It is now what looked like early in the afternoon, the sky a beautiful blue. The young man could almost feel the heat of the sun, and smell a distinct scent of popcorn and candy. He refocuses, seeing the area crowded with people. He is at a fair.

He hears a high pitched, girly gasp, a girl breaking away from the crowd and pattering over to a stall nearby. Her green eyes are wide as she looks at the array of stuffed animal prizes. Jay smiles, she was just a ball of adorable. She looks around ten though, he wonders what kind of vision this is supposed to be.

He then remembers the name: _Lena._

“Wait…” Jay begins to say but is interrupted as a figure lifts the small girl off the ground. She giggles uncontrollably, squirming in the person’s arms.

“What did I tell you about wandering off?” Aiden laughs. The sound seems foreign to Jay, watching the completely different looking man set the girl down, “You need to stay close, alright? I don’t need you getting lost in the crowd.”

“But uncle Aiden! Look!” The girl points at the stall, “Can you win me something? Please!”

Aiden smiles, a reflex Jay found to be so bizarre on him. It was a pretty smile, a normal smile. He frowns, beginning to understand what the vision is about. And dreading how it ends.

“I can try, but I’m not draining my wallet on these scams.” He takes the girl’s hand, leading her to the vender. Jay follows, going through several hallucinatory people as he joined them. The world he is placed in had all noises and feeling seem muted, except for the voices of the uncle and niece. Jay notices Aiden’s eyes, they are a duller green, still bright, but not as brilliant as he has seen them before. He wonders if this is just the vision, but Leon’s question from before becoming prominent.

_We are all born with bright eyes. But the brightest are the most powerful. The brightest have something broken._

Jay gulps a little, a horrible feeling at the pit of his stomach. He watches back to the vender. The game was shooting a moving target with a toy gun. Aiden begins taking aim but looks down at the girl. Her name is Lena, Jay knew, but he didn’t want it to be.

“Why don’t you try and shoot it first?” He suggests, holding out the gun.

Lena pouts, “I’ll miss.”

“Well, if you do, it’s just a game,” He lowers his voice, “A dumb one at that. They are big cheaters.”

This makes Lena giggle. She takes the gun, lifting herself on her tip toes over the counter. She shoots a couple times to miserable results. Jay smiles again, not being able to help it. The kid is so adorable, he couldn’t stand it.

“You have one more shot!” The vender girl says with an overly peppy voice. Lena puffs her cheeks, closing one eye. Jay looks over at Aiden who watches with a rather devious look. He lifts a hand just above his waist, flicking it to the side as his niece shoots. Jay looks over, seeing the bullet just curve in the air before smacking the target down.

Lena squeals, jumping up and down, “I hit it, uncle Aiden! I hit it!”

The vender girl hides her obvious surprise as Jay saw, smiling at Lena, “Alright, what do you want?”

Lena observes the prizes with a fairly critical eye, pointing to a small lamb doll in the back, “That one!”

She receives the doll, hugging it tightly as she hurries back to Aiden. He smiles at her, “I told you.”

His niece looks at him with a sly smile, whispering, _“Cheater.”_

“I have no idea what you mean,” Aiden lies poorly, smirking at her, “I didn’t do anything.”

Lena slaps his arm rather hilariously, “Yeah you did! You used your magic! I’m not stupid, uncle!”

Aiden laughs again, leading her to a bench, “Ok…Ok, I might have helped a bit.”

Jay follows them, looking up at a large set of construction scaffolding behind them. He moves closer as Lena joins her uncle on the bench, swinging her legs back and forth, “Why don’t you help other people with magic?”

“Well…people don’t really like magic very much,” Aiden sighs, clearly uncomfortable with the subject.

“Why?”

“People are scared of it.”

“Why?”

Aiden leans back, “Well…some people…some people do bad things with magic, Lena.”

Lena squeezes her new lamb doll, tilting her head, “Well that’s not fair. Bad people make it unfair!”

Her uncle smiles again, a sad smile, “Yeah…they do. But no one is perfect. If we could solve everything wrong with the world we would.”

The girl looks at him, beginning to speak but her face becomes confused, looking off into the distance. Jay follows her gaze, seeing a shadow behind the venders, a gun visible in his hand.

“No…” Jay speaks without thinking, “Aiden!” He looks at the vision frantically, but knew he wouldn’t get an answer.

The shadow suddenly shifts, throwing a round object into the scaffolding. It is beeping. Each noise stabbing through Jay’s ears.

_Three…two…one._

Jay stumbles as the grenade explodes with ravage force, seeing Aiden and Lena fly off the bench, rolling on the boardwalk as civilians scream. He sees the figure beyond the venders making a panicked wave of his hand. The scaffolding beyond collapsing into the boardwalk in sheets of sharpened metal and bolts.

Jay’s head reverberates blazing pain as time seems to speed up, cops appearing from nowhere, civilians escaping. He runs around the pile of scaffolding, skidding to a stop as some of the metal catapults from it, stabbing into the wood viciously. He sees uniforms backing up as shrapnel flies in every direction.

From the excess emerges Aiden, blood staining torn bits of his clothing. He collapses just beyond, a limp body matted with blood and dust in his arms. He holds his niece close as the officers shout orders, suddenly pointing their weapons at the man.

There is a deadly, steady silence, the world muted as Jay stares at the scene. Aiden looks up, his eyes shining brilliant, emerald green.

Jay gasps as there is an enormous crash, the scene ripping from existence in a matter of seconds. He feels like he’s getting launched into oblivion, images rushing through the back of his eyes and voices flashing in loudness through his ears. He shuts his eyes again, everything disintegrating into the dark.

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

He wakes as if being pulled from a freezing lake, his breathing heavy and his shirt soaked in sweat. He barely registers that he is in yet another alley, a few bits of rain plopping on his head. He glances over, seeing the rat mask he had on now at his side.

“Jay?”

Jay looks over, Aiden is standing against the other wall, shadows slashing over his face. His eyes are still prominent, even in the darkness. Time has certainly passed.

“What…happened?” He manages to ask through shaky breaths.

“You fell unconscious on the boardwalk.” Aiden strides to him, “You were staring at me then you just fell…”

Jay stares up at him, “I did?”

Aiden shakes his head, taking Jay’s arm, lifting him to stand without his consent, “I thought you were hurt.” There is a weakness in his voice, softness that Jay can’t explain.

“I wasn’t…I…” Jay tries to find the right words, “Aiden. I saw what happened.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What happened to…” Jay hesitates to say, “…to Lena.”

Aiden is silent, but steps back with wider eyes. He tries to speak several times but doesn’t finish. His expression finally settles on a bitterness Jay is familiar with, “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

“Well…I did,” Jay says, “I did and it is over with now…I understand now…I’m so sorry, Aiden…for what I said.”

Aiden watches him, shaking his head again, “We are going back now.”

“No.” Jay grabs his wrist with a shaky grip, the vision still taking a toll on him. He looks up at Aiden’s emerald eyes, “Not yet.”

The older man does not speak, only looks at the younger with an odd gaze, a broken look. Jay takes a step forward; kissing him with attuned gentleness.

The moment is a couple seconds. When no reaction comes Jay begins to pull away, thinking it a mistake.

He feels a hand crawl through his hair, pulling him back forward with demanding force. Aiden kisses back with overwhelming intensity, a bright and fiery feeling of desperate passion. He feels his back press against the alley wall, a roll of thunder beckoning the storm. Jay hastily grips the front of Aiden’s shirt, matching his fire with vicious, breathless symmetry.

Every inch of heat radiates from Jay, every sensation covered in the scent of gasoline and rainfall. He pulls away just barely, catching unconsumed oxygen. Aiden’s breath is soft and close to his ear, but verbally he is silent still.

Jay’s crystalline eyes glance above, the storm beginning in sheets, yet nothing touches them. He looks at the drops move around, sliding away as if an invisible bubble surrounds them.

He meets Aiden’s eyes, his hand’s palm up, causing the phenomenon. The younger smiles slowly, taking the hand, moving it away, letting the rain break through to them, soaking every heated pore. Aiden curses at the sudden impact, his muscles coiling against the freezing water. Jay grins, pulling him close again.

He suddenly hears a steady, light laugh, then, a quiet whisper, “This…this right here. It didn’t happen.”

Jay meets his eyes, kissing him gently again before whispering with perfect confidence, “Yes it did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank the Gods, the chapter is done!  
> *throws obscene amounts of confetti* I hope you all enjoyed that little number, because I sure did! :D  
> Although I was just about to throw myself out a window writing that Lena part, but I didn’t, so that’s good! Please R&R it really does help and will have more chapters as soon as I can.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, finally finished the chapter.  
> Sorry about the wait my lovelies. Senior year doesn’t exactly make me have time to focus on fanfiction. This, and the fact that I’m also working on original piece. Don’t worry, I’m not giving up on this, I’m just sad I started getting fast upload comments right when they began to slow down =______= curse my need to have a good education.  
> Anywho, hope you like it. I’ll begin the next one as soon as I can, I promise.  
> Oh, if anyone has suggestions for the story, feel free to spit them out. As I said I don't have as much time to formulate everything, and I'd love to hear some ideas!  
> Ta-ta!

Damien sighs, welcoming the extra air after holding it for so long in concentration. He is finally finished, however, despite his bitterness from putting so much effort into it. He rarely stays on one idea for longer than a day, this being one of the very few exceptions.

He hears footsteps patter from the top balcony, smirking as he hears a couple curses in French. Clara going down the stairs, “Is Aiden back yet? The storm is horrible.”

The man has not noticed how severe the storm has gotten. However, now that he has pulled from his focus he hears the howling wind and booming thunder. This does make him wonder where Pearce could be, because he is certainly not here.

“Nope. He and his pet mouse aren’t here.” He says, looking over and counting up in his head for her frown. It comes in two and a half seconds.

“That can’t be good…” Clara sighs, stepping beside Damien, looking at the mess of wiring chaotically spread about the table, “What exactly have you been doing this whole time?”

“What I’ve been doing the past five fucking weeks,” Damien scoffs at the sheer audacity of it, “I finally got all the wiring right…”

Clara lifts the small, unassuming handle. It is about the size of Damien’s forearm and wrapped in black leather. She raises an eyebrow at the older man, “I’m going to assume this is more than it seems.”

“No, no I just spent that long making a cool-looking handle,” Damien takes it from her, stepping away from the table, “Nothing is how it seems in this world, sweetheart.” He holds out a handle, a satisfied smirk appearing as the partisan blade retract from each side. He watches Clara’s expression as they both hear a static zapping dance along the weapon.

“It’s a fancy Taser then?” She observes crudely, but her eyes reflect more interest than her joking tone gave away. Damien always likes when people try and hide feelings from him. It is more satisfying in the long run when someone is embarrassed to be impressed.

Clara summons the weapon to her, mocking swings of the electrified batons, “Why did you make this?”

This, Damien sighs at, part of him wishing she wasn’t _that_ curious, “It’s for that kid. Aiden wanted him to have a weapon.”

The young woman chuckles, “Wait…did you…”

“Yeah, yeah, I listened to his request. I can’t help it. He’s so adorable when he’s clingy, even when he’s trying not to show it.”

“That was his feeling?”

“We’ve been over this. He’s in love,” Damien states, his mind laughing at the unorthodox thought. He remembers Aiden speaking to him late at night, his voice strung like it always was: direct, demanding, flared with intimidation and power.

Laced with otherworldly protectiveness.

Damien hadn’t dared mention a single word of his emotions, lest he run away with an argument that would have gone downhill fast. He is perfectly content in having Pearce ignorant, even if it is for something as silly as unadulterated infatuation. The mentor pretended to be unaware of. Aiden thinks he hides his feelings so well, but Damien has known him a long, long time. He knows all his tricks. Most he _taught_ to him in the first place.

“They better be OK out there…it isn’t like Aiden to take so long,” Clara speaks her worry, taking little time to figure out how to close the weapon up.

“It isn’t like him to cart his boyfriend around in a wicked storm either,” Damien points out, guiding his creation back to him, chuckling at Clara’s irritated look, “What? I can’t call him that?”

“You don’t know if it’s like that,” She says, but there is a ridiculous amount of doubt in her eyes. Clara is not stupid. She knew just as well as Damien what is going on.

“Can you stop deluding yourself and just find it cute like most women?” Damien suggests, leaning against the table, “I thought you’d be happy for him.”

“You…you know Aiden. This will distract him, he gets really protective.”

“Perfect love only brings strength. If you’ve read shitty romance novels.”

“And I assume you know exactly what perfect love is?”

Damien watches her with a growing smirk, “Can’t say I do.”

He watches the expression on the young woman’s face change, only slightly, but there is a change. She rolls her eyes before looking up as the boxcar rumbles up with the thunder, “Aiden’s back.”

Clara goes up the stairs while Damien stretches his sore muscles, a numb pain levitating from his shot shoulder. He curses at it, as if it could get offended. Right as he drops his arms he hears a shrill scream morphing into livid French.

The man jumps up, hearing shuffling footsteps. He grabs his creation, ducking under the balcony against the walls of the giant metal cylinders. He believes this place used to be a refinery of some kind. He sets the weapon behind one of the barrels, right as he does a body falls from the side of balcony, several needle-like knives lodged in his back.

“You bitch—!“

“Oh please, he asked for it!”

Damien couldn’t help but smile at the sheer poison in her voice. She seemed like such a nonviolent girl before.

There is noise of a struggle, far more voices flooding from the entrance of the boxcar. His eyes train toward the stairs. One hooded figure rolls down them unceremoniously whilst two more drag Clara with increasing effort. There is a cloth around her eyes.

“Could really use the Visionary here…” Damien mutters under his breath, moving deeper into the darkness. These men were not part of the Club, he could tell just from the energy. They are a lower class group, but how did they get here?

If Clara is panicking she doesn’t show it, at least in her powers. Lesser Aeros would be throwing all kinds of things around trying to hit a target haphazardly despite being blinded.

Then one of the men speaks with shaky determination, “Where is Brenks?”

Well, they are looking for him, unsurprising.

“How am I supposed to know?” Clara asks viciously, “He skipped town ages ago as far as I know.”

“You’re an idiot if you think he left. You know he sold out the psychics to Blume?”

There is a pause, genuine confusion in Clara’s voice now, “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you been in the city, girly?” The man says with perfect loathing, “The police are rabid with his frequencies, they know it weakens us.”

This revelation spikes curiosity in Damien. He did create a way to set off high frequencies, but if they thought he would sell that kind of information to police then they clearly didn’t know him too well. Who would do that? The only one that could would be a psychic.

“I know he’s here,” The leader continues after Clara is silent, “He’s hiding like he always does. I bet he won’t even come out if I shoot your brains out.”

“Oh. I see how it is.” Damien mumbles, surprising even himself with the immediate desire to help Clara. It isn’t even thinking of how royally furious Aiden would be if he let her get hurt, he just wanted to help her.

He lifts his pant leg, pulling two small, bladed throwing stars from the side, tossing them over his shoulder to float close to his back, “I need to take care of some misplaced aggression.”

The mentor makes a point to make his entrance noisy, his hands over his head, “Over here.”

The men all face him with varying degrees of surprise and, hilariously, fear. Damien eases into his usual smirk, “Threatening a woman that just slaughtered one of your men is probably a bad idea.”

Some of the strangers glance toward the blood soaked body and then back with even more anger. He likes them angry.

“Why did you do it, Brenks?” The leader asks with a rather adorable strength in his voice.

“I didn’t do anything. I actually have no fucking idea what you are talking about,” Damien speaks the truth, “But you don’t believe me, do you?”

“Of course not!”

“And you’re going to kill me, right?”

In answer, the leader pulls out a pretty gold pistol.

“Of course you are. Well,” Damien lets one of his throwing stars snap into its full size, it flinging into the chest of one of the members with clean efficiency. He takes his second in his hand, grinning at the man’s now shocked expression and says gently, “Be careful now. I hear these fights get pretty messy.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

It isn’t until they reenter the back door of ConneXion that Jay begins to lose his adrenaline. The rain is relentless now, stabbing down in spiky sheets that iced the fire in Jay’s blood. Now, out of the rain, is when he finally felt it. He looks over at Aiden, just as soaked but not shivering as he is.

“Do you feel _anything?”_ Jay asks, genuinely curious. He sometimes wonders if the Fox is even human.

An oddity occurs as the Fox smirks gently, walking down the hall, speaking bluntly and slyly, “I did, earlier.”

And just like that the cold vanishes.

“I feel you are being a bit out of character to your usual ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude,” Jay laughs, “Dare I say you are being almost _normal.”_

“I’m not a monster, Jay,” He says simply, looking up at the ceiling as thunder crashes, “I have emotions. I am just very particular when using them.”

“How can you even do that?” The younger inquires, beginning to inspect his mask he had just been able to snatch from the ground as they ran from the storm, “I’ve never been able to control my emotions.”

“You’ve never had a reason to,” Aiden stops fully, his eyes shadowed by his hat. There is hesitation in his next words, “You saw everything?”

Jay knows he is talking about the flashback. It has to be. It is the only subject he has ever seen him pull away from; the only moment other than just a few minutes ago were he felt actual weakness from the man. He nods slowly, saying, “I faded out of it when…the police, ah, they were pointing guns at you.”

Aiden is silent, staring at the opposite wall of the small hallway. The younger could tell just from the expression that he is remembering.

“What happened…after you…?” Jay trails off, envisioning Aiden pulling himself from the wreckage of the explosion, his niece bloody and long gone in his arms. It seems almost dramatic, like something from a book or distant fantasy.

He looks back at Aiden, but their eyes don’t meet. He watches the same wall, speaking with the roughness of a struggling heart, “I snapped.”

Jay feels a spike of pain in his head, voices and noises filling the empty space of the hallway. Screams of people, police orders, crashes and roaring waves. His eyes widen, looking at Aiden, “You took down the whole boardwalk…didn’t you?”

“Yep,” Aiden surprisingly answers almost immediately, “Someone put a hit on me.”

“Who would do that?”

The older man leans against the wall as he says, “I never used my powers. Not much anyway before then. I didn’t want to be a part of it. I was like you, Jay. I kept everything inside. Except for when it was voluntary.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to use powers like yours?”

“I was the only one that had them, besides my father. I didn’t want to put my family in danger. And then I met Damien.”

“Was he a criminal?”

“Yes…at least in the eyes of the police. He found me, he said my aura was something that couldn’t be ignored. He offered to teach me the things he knew. But I refused.”

“You did?” Jay frowns, “Did he…?”

“No…no he didn’t do anything. He is the one that warned me…he said that I was far too lucky that he found me first. That if I refused someone else might not be nice and will just want me out of the picture.”

“You didn’t believe him…did you?”

“Of course not. How could I?” Aiden’s voice grows tenser, “I killed a lot of people on that boardwalk, Jay. It was…ugly even for my standards. Some weren’t even cops, some were just…random civilians that got in my way. I had no control over what I was doing, I was just…angry. I wanted to hunt them down, every single person that caused that explosion. I found Damien…he helped achieve every ounce of revenge I could possibly muster.”

“Did you succeed?” Jay walks closer, sitting on an abandoned speaker. Despite the little expression on Aiden’s face, he could _feel_ pain emitting off him like a strange energy. He knows how he feels, perhaps not through experience, but something else entirely.

“I’ll tell you that I got to the man who threw the grenade. His name was Maurice. I didn’t know what I was expecting. I hoped it would be someone with no regret, some monster I would have no problem killing like every other person involved,” Aiden laughs shortly, shaking his head, “He was just a man with some debt he had to pay. He told me he saw that girl and couldn’t shoot me. He threw that grenade hoping to kill us both. Obviously it didn’t go as he planned.”

Jay closes his eyes, listening to the distant voices of past events. He could almost see this Maurice character, his voice strained and pathetic in attempts to justify what he did. Aiden silent with a one brazen sword trained on him as he pours out his excuses with a broken spirit. Eventually, Aiden turns away, taking the sword from the air and walking into shadowy air.

“You didn’t kill him.” He states, opening his eyes again, the visions somehow not giving him much pain this time. Almost as if it is natural.

“No. I didn’t. There was nothing left in me at that point. I was done searching for vengeance, trying to drag something back that was already long gone,” He looks at Jay briefly, then back at the wall, “Damien wanted to go further. He is not a criminal, but he loathes how the gifted are treated. He found his only outlet was through violence. He thought that to be the only cure. I didn’t agree…and we fought.”

“You _fought_ him?” Jay suddenly remembers Damien’s leg, the one crafted from metal, “You…”

“Yes…” He answers before Jay could finish, “I never liked Bone Devil work. I…never tried it. That was the only time I did. Crushed the bones to dust.”

Jay feels his skin tingle from the image. He shivers inwardly, hoping to not see that flashback in his dreams one night. He feels Aiden’s hand on his shoulder, something that relaxed his muscles rather than making them tense. He looks at the older man with a smile but frowns when it’s not returned.

Aiden looks at him with growing concern. He lets go, moving away. There is something he is hiding, a phrase or sentence left unsaid. Jay didn’t know why, but it seems to be the case.

“Aiden…?” He reaches toward the psychic but stops as Leon appears at the end of the hallway.

“What are you two doing back here?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, “I assumed you’d be chasing each other down to the Wards.”

“I don’t know if you noticed the storm outside,” Aiden says sharply, “This is the closest place we could get to.”

Leon’s bright eyes move to Jay, as if to confirm the story. The young psychic nods in agreement. This make him recalibrate, sighing, “Fine,” He directs his speech to Jay, “But if _he_ is staying you better make sure he doesn’t break anything else.”

“I won’t.” Aiden answers, “You were in my way before.”

“Yeah, whatever. A nice shove would be better than flinging me across the room,” He rolls his shoulders as if to simulate where he suffered the most on impact before disappearing back into the main area.

Jay looks at Aiden with a raised eyebrow, “They aren’t bad people.”

“As I said, they were in my way.”

“Ever heard of subtlety?”

“I get asked that a lot. I still don’t know what it means.”

Jay chuckles, jumping off the speaker and following Leon. Thunder and rain continue to bombard the outside, making a pattering and tempestuous rhythm on the ceiling.

“Jay…” Upon his name the young man looks up, recognizing a familiar accent. Wick sits at one of the tables by Sid, staring, wide-eyed, “You’re…what are you…?” He trails off, looking past him as Jay feels Aiden’s presence behind him, watching Wick with critical eyes.

“Oh…right…” Jay moves in front of Aiden, “Listen…I know you don’t trust him but—“

“What are you doing here?” He questions Wick sharply.

“I could ask you the same question, mate,” Wick says, confident yet still cautious, holding up his hands on the stool, “Came in here to hide from the rain.”

“Right. What a coincidence.”

“I’m getting the vibe that you don’t trust me.”

“Why should I?”

“What did I do, exactly?”

Aiden stops just before speaking, looking at Jay, then back at Wick.

Wick slowly frowns, “You…didn’t tell him…did you?” He slowly gets off the stool, “I swear I didn’t mean it, mate…”

“What is he talking about?” Jay asks in growing confusion, looking back at Aiden.

“Jay, he—“

“It was a mistake…please know that,” Wick’s eyes are pleading, but there is something…something off about it that Jay couldn’t exactly pinpoint. It might just be his nerves as he speaks about it. Wick hasn’t yet lied to him and he’s never seen him this on edge.

Jay steps forward carefully, “What…did you do?”

Wick bites his lip, “I…” He looks down, hesitation with brief pause.

Aiden finally breaks the trailing pauses, speaking quickly, “He killed your mother, Jay.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

There is a lightning fast flash of pain that rips through Damien’s shoulder as he’s slammed against the wall, a knife threatening to cut his neck. Guns had been promptly jammed for all players in the fight by various fits of psychic energy. Breathless as the fights have been there are little enemies left. Clara is across the blood splattered room with the last two. Certainly more came into the Bunker than Damien first anticipated. His throwing disks were currently incapacitated, one being embedded in the back of a man and the other stuck in a mess of knocked-over metal.

The enemy before him grunts, pushing the knife closer. Damien sighs, “Don’t make me—you are so close…”

“To killing you,” the man finishes before he can, the sharp metal blossoming red from his skin.

“Alright, fuck it.” Damien shoves the man away eyes steely. He flicks his wrist curtly, hearing the sickening snap of the man’s neck before he falls over. He notices Clara as she sends one man across the room, stabbing the other with one of her knives.

She looks across at Damien, her eyes bright and her breathing hard, “You were right about it being messy…”

“A bit too messy, really,” The psychic looks around, “Pearce is gonna blame me for this.”

“Well--”

“Oh don’t even say it was my fault, sweetheart. I didn’t tell anything to anybody. That weakness is too precious for me to just give away to the general public. Especially the police.”

“I was going to say we should find whoever pointed the finger at you,” She smirks slightly, “I never thought that you betrayed us. You aren’t terribly stupid.”

This left a sense of satisfaction in Damien. He returns the look, saying, “Right. Too bad we killed everyone.”

Clara points to a moving figure that she had pushed back before, “That one is still moving.”

Damien looks over toward the figure, heading toward him. The man moans, sitting up against the wall. His eyes are wide as the psychic steps to him, “Alright. Don’t make this hard. Just tell us who mentioned me.”

“You…you killed everyone.”

“Yeah. We did. That doesn’t answer the question though,” Damien puts his hands in his pockets. Half his thoughts are amused by imagining how Aiden would handle a situation like this. Everything that involved even an ounce of human interaction consumed all his concentration. Especially when it had to be subtle. Luckily for something like relentless interrogation, it didn’t need to be any of that.

Damien crouches by the man as he hears the small snap of some of his fingers breaking. He screams, holding his hand as he looks at the psychic with a terrified expression.

“I’m not going to go all psychological on this. We don’t need this to get worse. Just tell me who sent you.”

“N…no one _sent_ us…h-he just said who would—“

Damien narrows his eyes, an action that makes the man cringe. He speeds up, “I-I don’t know what he looked like…his face was covered but he…I think he had an accent.”

“What kind?”

“I dunno! English…Irish?”

“Australian?” Clara suggests from the back.

Damien looks up, knowing exactly who she is referring to. This kid with the purple hair. The one he met before all this. He was clearly a Will Bender, considering his Aura, seeming to be afflicted to no kind of organization. Although, he was fully intrigued by the inventions of Damien’s, asking questions the older man didn’t fail in answering. He could remember regretting it. The kid played to his ego expertly.

“That little shit…” He mutters as he realizes this, standing. He plucks a gun from the ground as he does, looking at Clara, “That kid has to be the one.”

“Yeah. He’s the only one you were stupid enough to give away your secrets too,” She crosses her arms, giving one of those skeptical looks women seem to do so well.

“Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart,” He turns, shooting the survivor cleanly in the head.

Clara shivers a bit as she looks around, seeming to just come to the revelation what just went down, “Do you think he was the one that told the police?”

“I don’t know how he would. I never told him details about the high frequencies. He might be covering for someone else. Regardless, he started this.”

“Jay said that he was a friend…maybe he thinks Jay is in danger here.”

“Or he is a psychopath. The kid is a Will Bender, Clara.”

“Not all Will Benders are psychopaths.”

“But most are.”

Clara walks past him toward the shot up reservoirs, picking up Damien’s newest weapon, “Most Bone Devils are psychopaths too.”

Damien smirks, “Ah, right, and ‘I’m not one of them’. I know how this goes.”

“No, no you are definitely a psychopath,” She hands him the weapon, “So is Aiden. You’re insane in your own unique ways. They just happen to be in the same interests as mine.”

This hits Damien in a surprising way. Most find the aspect of their ways to be ridiculous and evil. He supposes that Clara isn’t exactly a perfect angel either. She is right. They are both crazy in a variety of circumstances. The most curious to be seen is if Damien’s guess about Jay’s feelings for Aiden is actually fulfilled.

Aiden is not subtle, especially in emotions. That is a concept Damien could never control, like some raging tidal wave. Then again, Jay is similar. But instead of being uncontrollable in _certain_ emotions, he was uncontrollable in all of them.

“Is that your thinking face?” Clara asks, snapping at him. Her smile falls a bit, “I’m worried about them.”

Damien stretches, looking around at the wreckage for his disks, rain slicing at the windows, “I’m not worried about them at all. Opposites attract.”

“Did you seriously just say that?” Clara chuckles, able to rip one of his disks from the wall.

“Hey, Clara, what makes steam?” The older man asks, observing a broken pipe spewing the common power source out in a small, white cloud.

“Fire and water,” She answers casually, staring back.

Damien smirks, “Exactly.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why hello there! It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?  
> Honestly, guys, I’m putting way too much effort into this. I’m ridiculously OCD and will not rest until every chapter is just as good of quality as what you started with. I know the update times are really depressing but I don’t want to bust out a chapter if I’m not satisfied with it. I’ve also got Six Souls which is original and needs some love as well! Self-Advertising for the lame!   
> Anyway, please read, enjoy, COMMENT! I love to know what you think or if there is anything you feel I need to work on. Ta-ta!

Wick didn’t exactly know what he wanted to expect for Jay’s inevitable reaction to the death of his mother. Then again, he could feel his own muscles tense, ready to be flung across the room. This reaction has yet to come. He watches Jay’s slow change of expression, sensing the deteriorating emotion in his mind. Processing what he has just been told.

The Will Bender notices in these moments just how much the Fox has changed the kid. He looks much stronger, less flimsy and awkward, more defined in muscle. Even the blue in his eyes reveals less innocence and more icy confidence. That could be problematic. Although, Wick could still feel the same weakness, even if it is covered expertly. He’s not fully transformed, not yet anyway. Especially now, as Jay looks at him with a tragically upset look, yet not as devastated as he would assume.

The Fox, meanwhile, could probably turn Wick to dust with the vicious gaze he is giving him. There is something unholy about the bright green eyes. He could hear the ticking of his life’s clock again, although, unlike at the ship yard, he knew he would live through this.

“Jay…” The Fox, Wick recalls his name being Aiden, slowly speaks. It is adorably gentle, protective, “Jay, you need to back up.”

Yes Jay doesn’t respond, frozen. His eyes are focused on a luminescent rat mask he has attached to his belt. He plays with it, trying to stay calm. Not avoiding anger, to Wick’s guess, just from sadness.

He finally speaks, quietly, “Aiden…let me talk to him.”

Only God know how much Wick wants to grin at the Fox’s sudden spike of surprise. He doesn’t show it very well, but Wick can sense it loud and clear.

Before he can respond Jay takes Wick’s arm, leading him up a set of stairs and into one of the rooms Wick had brought him when they first met. Once the door closes Jay slowly sighs, “Yeah…we won’t last long in here.”

“I’m guessing he’ll be coming up soon,” Wick guesses, keeping any sort of amusement from his face. He’s supposed to be regretful, saddened by his mistaken murder. It really helped more that he never meant to kill the mother, but he didn’t exactly care that it happened either. He does now, though, for the sake of acting.

Jay leans against the wall, the crystal blue of his eyes vibrant in the dark room, “He doesn’t trust you.”

“That’s pretty obvious,” Wick says whilst keeping close attention to the kid’s emotions. His heart rate is fast, as if nervous. There is heat that radiates off him, like adrenaline, though it only lingers, as if depleted a while ago. Something quite eventful has happened to him recently, and Wick is very curious about it.

“He’s just protective,” Jay is quick to defend, “He’s just…he doesn’t want me to get hurt. He wants to do everything.”

“And you’re OK with that?” The last time he talked to Jay, that sort of mentality seemed like something he tried to avoid. Now he speaks about it like it is perfectly fine.

“Yeah…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. His emotions spike, uneasiness, tension, sheepishness.

“Ok…Ok what are you even thinking about?” Wick asks, “I can sense your nerves. I thought I’d be dead by now after…”

A new wave of sadness sets over his layers of feeling. Jay looks at him rather intensely, “You said it was an accident…you didn’t mean to…”

Wick stares, a concerning hesitation settling. He has never once questioned whether to lie or not. However, Jay’s eyes are something bizarre, as if staring into his morality. He shakes it off, sighing, “Yes…it was…I thought maybe she was asleep…but if humans try and fight the transmission…” He trails off, relieved as he knows the kid is buying it. Although, he seems more preoccupied by the door. He knows well enough that Jay never fancied his parents but the obliviousness to standing in front of his mother’s murderer is astounding. Less work for him, he supposes.

Finally, Jay speaks, looking back at Wick, “I understand…you didn’t mean it.”

“Really…” Wick lets some of his amusement sneak out, but he buries it under a frown, “Thank you for listening…but you are distracted.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can sense emotions, remember?” Wick explains, deciding it is best to change the subject, “Did something happen recently? Your past feelings suggest as much.”

Jay’s frown deepens as he moves farther into the room, sitting on one of the plush couches and is silent, arguing with himself. Wick follows, his curiosity peaking. He follows, careful while sitting beside him, letting him think. He is debating on telling Wick something important. It must be.

“Jay…” He speaks gently, keeping the gesture in his hands casually, “Tell me what is going on.”

He watches the psychic’s muscles tense just slightly, like he just felt some chill go through the air. He speaks quietly, “I kissed him.”

Wick stares, trying to comprehend, “You did what?”

“Aiden,” He reiterates, “I kissed him in the alleyway, just before the rain came.”

Well this is interesting isn’t it? Wick was thoroughly aware of Jay’s cute crush on the Fox but to this extent he didn’t even understand. He stares with his true emotion of shock, asking, “Did he—“

“Uh, yeah,” He answers before Wick and finish the question, “He…kissed back.” The way he says this and the faded blush on his cheeks makes the Will Bender smirk only a little. The Fox kissing him in some alley way just before a storm? How romantic. Even with Jay’s feelings he didn’t think he’d be able to influence such a powerful and emotionless psychic so fast. Then again, this just makes Wick’s job easier. This is exactly how he wanted it to play out. The only thing he needs now is a little more trust. The most important factor to him is the fact that the Fox showed emotional weakness. Something happened that caused this, he wouldn’t just sporadically kiss without some bit of his endless stoic disposition being shattered.

“You kissed him?” Wick repeats, “How did that even happen?”

“Well I kissed first,” Jay says casually, shrugging, “And he didn’t really react at first and then he…reacted all at once.”

“Why did you decide to kiss him? Why then? Just the right moment?” Wick asks as he tries not to sound too demanding, only curious, like a friend asking about a date.

“I…” Jay hesitates, his expression growing a concerning skeptical as he watches Wick. He speaks again, quieter, “I’d rather not say. Like you said…it was just the right moment.”

That is not nearly good enough. Jay knows, he knows he shouldn’t talk about the Fox. At least his theory is correct, he needed to rebuild his way into his trust. Distantly he could hear a voice, so quiet and buried under years of this life he traverses that he could barely hear it. It tells him not to do this, to walk away.

But if he does, if he listens, the only thing left for him was a bullet through the head or probably worse. It isn’t his time to join who he has lost.

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Aiden leans stiffly against the bar, staring toward the room Jay and the purple-haired man had disappeared to. The psychic has counted twelve minutes. Part of his mind measured how many ways he could kill someone in twelve long minutes, dividing out ones that involved lots of screaming. He promptly sticks them back in the equation when one of the club residents informs him that it was a sound proof room. This didn’t apply to how the Will Bender killed people. He’s seen ones of his kind take several out in a couple seconds by simply shutting off their brain activity. He remembers Jay’s mother, how the young man claimed it a mistake. It sounded genuine enough, almost believable...almost.

Then again, he could hear Damien telling him otherwise. Will Benders are born to manipulate. They did not fall under general signs of lying like darting eyes or twitching muscles. You had to go with your instinct.

And Aiden believed the mother’s death was a mistake. That didn’t mean the young man was innocent. Just that the death was a mistake. He didn’t seem like the kind of psychic that would be so needlessly malicious. If he is, he would have tried to kill both of them.

At least from his experience with family death.

His mind reluctantly flashes back to what Jay said in the alley. He saw everything. At least, mostly everything. A part of him is happy that he didn’t have to see the aftermath of that day. The last thing he needed is for Jay to be afraid. He’d rather have him cocky and rebellious than to be afraid. He wasn’t afraid when he looked at Aiden in the alley. He watched his blue eyes peering at him with needless concern and worry. The brightness of them was captivating, breaking down his so meticulously crafted wall of indifference.

Then there was that damn kiss. He supposes he should be thinking of ‘what the Hell came over him’ or ‘why did I let myself do that’. Yet, he didn’t. Aiden never regretted anything. The only thing he could think of was not being able to save Lena. But that is different. All that rubble from his demolished walls, he had to rebuild it somehow. Kissing Jay back with such rigorous passion _mostly_ unbridled by restraint…it is another outlet. He figures this out in his head afterword. There is something ungodly satisfying about it. So insatiable is his desire to protect Jay that _security_ turns to _love_ so quickly.

“You’re going to break the glasses,” One of the club members, his name is Leon, says blankly, spinning an empty cup in his hand already with a large crack, “It’s a bit irritating how just thinking makes things break apart.”

“Is there supposed to be some meaning in that?” Aiden asks far too roughly. He knew Leon, before he lost his arm. It is a distant relationship but well enough to speak civilly. It probably didn’t help Aiden’s position that he threw him over the bar when chasing after Jay. Leon is strong but crippled by manic policemen. They had tried a tactic a long time ago to cut off hands of psychics so they could not use their powers. Needless to say that ended quickly, considering how quickly they found out after testing it on Leon how he didn’t need his hands to impale them on street lamps.

“No, I just don’t want you breaking my fucking glassware,” Leon spits out, but his face softens afterword, sighing, “Listen. I’m not even going to try and understand. I’m just going to say that Jay needs a bit more freedom.”

“You think I’m keeping him prisoner?”

“A jail may have nice wardens and a comfy room. It may even make you want to stay,” Leon looks up, his eyes are grey, not nearly as bright, but still alive, “It’s only when you look out the window, or when you take a walk on the outside that you remember it is still a fucking jail.”

Aiden wants to be angry about this. Though he knows that there is truth in his words. Jay is not used to making his own decisions. Then again, he chose to kiss Aiden, and he obliged quite spectacularly. Maybe he needed to trust him more.

He looks back at the room. Seventeen minutes now.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t trust him either,” Leon says, glancing to where Aiden is looking as well, “He’s around here a lot. Lingers in the club.”

“What does he do?” Aiden asks, wanting to know as much information as he can.

“Nothing. I’ve talked to him before. He’s a clever kid, always avoiding any sort of involvement…he’s dangerous if associated with the wrong people.”

“I’ve assumed that much.”

“Well think about it this way. What if Jay trusts him?”

The psychic doesn’t know how to answer this. One choice could be to trust him as Jay trusts him. However, Jay has far more emotional interference than Aiden. He wants to believe that Jay has lost all his innocence but he hasn’t. Just most of it. Another choice is ignoring Jay and not trusting him at all, which won’t work in the slightest. The best thing he can do is trust not to trust, to be cautious.

He hears a door open and close. Turning, he sees Jay slip out of the room followed by the one in question. At this point he vaguely remembers Damien telling him his name is Wick. He looks at Aiden blankly, nothing revealed in his expression.

“Thank you for not trying to kill him,” Jay says, his voice tinged with a similar rebellion that he has heard before.

“Do you trust him?” Aiden asks immediately, not even caring. He wanted to get to the point.

Jay watches and nods. He nods only once.

There is a visual relaxation to Wick behind him, he immediately stiffens again as Aiden looks at him. It isn’t the fearful kind of tension, it is almost like a kid getting caught stealing from the cookie jar. He watches Aiden with far less emotion than his posture.

“Yay, we all love each other and we aren’t going to destroy Leon’s club from fighting!” Leon says with feigned cheerfulness from the bar, sipping his glass, “Because that would be irritating and really fucking expensive to fix!”

“It’ll be OK, don’t worry,” Jay assures just as thunder claps in the distance, another set of rain sheening the roof.

Aiden glances to Leon, “Do you have rooms?”

“Yeah, sure, it’s a hotel now,” Leon rolls his eyes, grabbing keys off the bar, passing Jay, pointing a metal finger at him and muttering, “You are the only one I like.”

This makes Jay smirk, looking to Aiden, “You know, there is some advantage to being nice to people.”

“I don’t need people to like me,” Aiden says slowly, setting his glare to Wick who looks away. A smile is dancing just barely on his lips. He moves to Wick without restraint, standing close, speaking clearly, “Give me one reason. One single reason. It’ll make my day.”

The purple-haired psychic stares, the smirk falling yet he is far too stoic for Aiden’s liking. This isn’t the first time someone has threatened him this way. He speaks gently, “You won’t get a reason, Fox.”

There is too much steel in his words. Nevertheless, Aiden backs away, about to take Jay’s hand but moves to his shoulder instead, leading him to follow Leon. Wick is behind them, but keeps a distance. He could not shake away his paranoia so evident in the Will Bender’s presence. But, Jay trusts him. All he can do is be very, very careful. Jay already knows too much, has too much effect on him. There is no way he would lose him now.

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Jay feels he could cut the tension with a dull blade if he wanted to. The aggression like deadly electricity. Although, even with this he could tell well enough with Aiden’s grip on his shoulder, which is drastically tight. He reaches up, touching the older man’s hand, trying to give him some sign.

To his touch Aiden glances at him with his bright eyes, ultimately letting go entirely. Jay rolls his shoulder, mumbling, “Thank you.”

He gets silence in response.

Leon stops after they climb up another set of stairs, looking at them blankly, “I only got two rooms because to Hell if any of you stay with me.”

“I don’t need a bed,” Aiden says simply.

“Great.” He tosses the set of keys to him, “I really need sleep after this. Don’t bother me.” He rubs his temples as he disappears into the farthest door.

Aiden is quick to access both doors, holding one open as he looks at Wick. He stares back, strangely emotionless as he walks in. He almost slams the door, contemplating between the keys and the lock.

“You’re not funny,” Jay pipes up, trying to foil his plans he is clearly thinking of.

Aiden looks to him blankly, “I wasn’t going to lock the door.”

Jay snorts, rolling his eyes, “Right.”

He sees the older man’s lip twitch up at the sound. He moves to the next door, “He could just open it with his power, you know. It wouldn’t have done anything.”

“Well you would find it funny when he tries to open it in the morning.”

“No I wouldn’t.”

“You are so shitty at lying!” Jay can’t help but chuckle, _“I_ lie better than you!”

“I’m not good at lying to _you_ , Jay, there is a difference,” Aiden says suddenly, pushing open the door quietly to a simple guest room, sparingly furnished. Jay steps in, the air cold under the pattering ceiling. He stares ahead, then turns slightly back to Aiden, “What happened…back there….was it a mistake?”

He can’t help but ask. Aiden certainly likes to calculate plans, but he is also one for instinct. He needs to know if the experience in the alley was just in the heat of the moment. Aiden was so uncharacteristically broken, so starkly emotional. Anything can happen to people when they are like that, even when it’s something so distinct like what happened before.

The Fox is silent for an unbearably long time, but does not look away from the younger psychic. He looks out in the hall, then back, stepping closer. He lifts Jay’s chin up with strange gentleness, kissing him in a similar fashion. If what happened in the alleyway was like an uncontrollable wildfire, this was a delicately lit candle, so soft and leaving such subtle warmth. And then it is gone.

Jay blinks, seeing Aiden is not out of the room. He could see the man’s hands twitch slightly, as if nervous but not symmetric to the look on his face which is as unreadable as stone. He speaks blatantly, “I make no mistakes.” He takes the knob of the door, slowly closing it, “Goodnight, Jay.”

The Visionary leans against the wall, stricken with the finality of the statement. Why is he so good at last words?

He could feel the cold air thicken with the warmth still left behind. The layers beat down on the last remaining spots of energy he has. With little grace he collapses on the bed, his body asleep before he even feels his eyes close.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, HUZZAH, fast upload! I was on a roll XD.  
> Second, for those curious, which is probably…like…a two of you...I listen to a lot of music when I write. I actually, legit, can’t write without some kind of music playing insanely loud in my eardrums. So from this chapter onward I will quote some awesome music I listen to whilst writing these things. As well as who I think about because DAMMIT I LIKE AUTHOR’S NOTES. Ready? GO.
> 
> You’ve got me out of control, I feel my stomach on a roll, I need my memory back…  
> You’ve got me stumbling fast, let’s make that nighttime last, I wanna dance like that…  
> Ooo I wanna dance like that!  
> -I Need My Memory Back-The Glitch Mob  
> (Inspiration: Defalt)

Aiden is halfway successful in falling asleep. That is the closest he’s ever been. When his eyes snap open there is a part of him that feels far too proud of that accomplishment. The only difference with this and any other middle-of-the-night is that he is sitting in the hallway of a club, and there is no sunrise for him to stare at to pass the time. However, he did hear something: a quiet scratching beat.

He looks forward, noticing Jay’s room opened and slowly stands. He starts to move down that hall, touching the door Wick was in. He feels the sleepy vibration of his Aura on the other side, then continues toward the main room.

Jay’s Aura is present to his senses before Aiden even fully enters. There is blatant electricity to it, almost painfully so. He sees the young psychic close by, standing at the balcony. Headphones practically glued to his head, along with that luminescent mask he was holding before. It shines different shades of blue in the dim lighting. His hands move just above the music controls, the knobs and buttons moving by themselves to his whim.

Aiden finishes staring, walking forward, speaking honestly, “The mask fits you.”

Jay stops fiddling with the devices in front of him, pulling the mask down along with the headphones. Aiden could hear the music in them as if they were stereos before it is shut off. How loud is he even listening to that?

He sees Jay smile tiredly and shrugs, “I told Chelsea it was poetic justice.”

Aiden walks closer to him, pulling the mask off, inspecting it, “Lies,” He says, holding up the object, “This is clearly a _rat_ mask.”

“Yeah, and?” Jay asks. Aiden raises his eyebrow, in which Jay scowls. It was pretty adorable, like a bratty kid not getting a cookie. He takes the mask from him, “Oh please, give me this. Rats are at least a little scarier than fucking mice.”

“Well you aren’t the only one that got an animal nickname.” Aiden reasons, but by Jay’s expression he not having any of it.

“You got a cool animal though! Foxes are clever and great hunters. Mice are…” Jay trails off, not finding good adjectives.

“Cute, harmless and crawl where they are not supposed to,” Aiden offers, “As oppose to rats, which are ugly, annoying as fuck and crawl where they are not supposed to.”

Jay chuckles quietly, setting the mask down and looking at Aiden with a sly grin, “So are you calling me cute?”

“Well,” Aiden leans against a stereo, growing increasingly more comfortable, “You are cute-ish, more like ‘frustrating’ than ‘annoying’, and you go places you’re not supposed to. So you’re more of a rat-mouse hybrid. I should really call for a new species discovery.”

The younger smiles, then laughs, looking away at his music, then back at Aiden with bright eyes, “When did you get so lively?”

It is a good question, one that Aiden can’t quite answer. The only time he remembers being like this is before Lena died, which seems so very long ago now. Humor was one of the first things to be eradicated along with that dock, broken by anger and revenge, overshadowed by purpose. He usually only had the occasional need to joke, be it very dry and lacking light. Like kissing Jay, he felt some odd complacency with his old self when talking to him as well. He shouldn’t be OK with this, having one person change his entire perspective, but then again, he really, _really_ didn’t care.

As Aiden thinks, Jay has put his headphones back, bobbing his head to the beat Aiden could clearly hear. When he sees his curious look, the younger psychic takes them off, offering them, “Want to listen?”

“I can hear it without putting them on,” Aiden says, hearing the light, dancing notes, nimble in chorus and rhythm, “How long have you been making it?”

“Well…” Jay waves a hand, the music fading from the headset as a dial turns on one of the machines, “Most of the night…I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

Jay shrugs as his common response, turning to play with the many buttons again, “I had a dream that I was here, on this balcony…but the club looked a lot different like…like it was back before the Revolution. I was wearing that mask…some dumb jacket thing…the place was really crowded.”

“And you couldn’t sleep to that?” Aiden asks, “That’s better than all the dreams I have.”

“Well that’s what I thought. But then you came in to the club, down there,” He points generally where Aiden’s dream self would be wandering, “You kept staring down at some glowing thing…you kept getting more and more irritated the longer you stared at it. I was watching you. I stole something from you.”

Aiden ponders this, looking down at the dance floor, “Sounds accurate. If someone stole something from me I would want to get it back.”

“Even if it was me?”

“Well, maybe you were a different person in that dream.”

“My dream-me was totally laughing his ass off, though,” Jay chuckles a bit, looking at Aiden, “I don’t know why I woke up…but I couldn’t fall asleep after that. So I came here.”

“Dreams are strange,” Aiden says, “They can be truthful or just…nonsense.” He waits for Jay to ask what dreams he has had, but the question never comes. The words seem to form on the younger psychic’s lips, but they never form completely. He must have chosen not to. Is it that he noticed Aiden never sleeps? Whatever it is, he knew Aiden wouldn’t answer it well. This makes him smirk slightly.

There is a couple seconds of silence, Jay speaking again, “Being default is bad, right?”

Aiden raises an eyebrow, “Default? I suppose. Default just means you are the basic product. Like…a default set of notes that you always use when playing music. It’s always there, but just the foundation of something better that can be used or created.”

“Dream-me had a jacket that said ‘Default’ on it. Why would he want to be basic?”

“It could be a nickname.”

“It was spelled wrong too,” Jay decides to add, “D-e-f-a-l-t.”

Aiden looks up at the ceiling, “This is the most important thing to care about right now?”

“Yeah! I’m really concerned for dream-me and his bad spelling habits. And that he was laughing at you. I wanted to punch him,” He suddenly smirks, “…or at least know why he was laughing so I could laugh at you too.”

Aiden can’t help but smile at this, letting himself laugh very simply before his dominant nature gets the better of him, “Maybe we should leave. I want to get back to the bunker before the police are fully awake.”

He sees Jay’s face fall drastically, picking up the headset again, “Listen to this, please? It’s better when you actually have them in.”

Aiden watches his pleading look, almost like asking a favor before being dragged off again. The Fox frowns, remembering what Leon said. Jay needs more freedom if he’s ever going to understand anything. Then again, Jay understood a lot more than Aiden first anticipated. Startlingly so. Regardless, they needed to get back. He didn’t like Clara and, he supposes Damien, not knowing what is going on.

He takes the headset, holding one of the speakers against his ear. Jay waves his hand again, switching the music back on.

In about five seconds Aiden throws the headset across the balcony, swearing as the painful frequency pounds at his head. He sees Jay’s eyes wide, his hands up as if being held up at gunpoint, “What? What happened? Was it really that bad?”

Aiden curses again, his focus beginning to return as he looks at him, “J-Jay…is that how loud you listen to it?”

“Well…yeah, I actually go a bit louder actually,” He mutters, “I didn’t think psychics had sensitive ears like humans do—“

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Aiden interrupts, shaking away the last bit of shock.

“Kill myself? It’s just music!” Jay laughs a little, clearly not understanding, “I’m sorry if it was too loud…”

Aiden tries to process his casual behavior. The music is loud enough to scream through Aiden’s thoughts, and Jay says he listens to it _louder?_ He stares at the younger psychic seriously, “Jay…psychics can’t listen to high frequencies of sound. It messes with their power. It’s a _weakness._ Didn’t you see those police with the white earbuds? That’s why I came to get you. If you stick one of those in they will know what you are.”

Jay stares, slowly raises an eyebrow, “You mean those dumb danger-tracker things? I thought mine was broken or something. All I heard was this screeching sound.”

The Fox stares, his mind calculating, thinking of the woman chased by police, of Damien testing his invention on him. Jay isn’t effected. He doesn’t feel it.

He’s _immune._

Both psychics turn as they hear the doors, that are supposed to be locked from what Aiden remembers, bang open. Instinctively he grabs Jay’s shirt, dragging them both down behind the mass of sound machines. Aiden hears several uniform footsteps, a man’s voice prominent.

“This is the place…there are psychics here, there has to be.”

“Mr. Marcowicz, are you sure?”

“You said this building wasn’t checked. And I remember this place. My son went here.”

Aiden hears Jay suck in a breath, his crystalline eyes wider than before, a distant, childish fear returning to him as he whispers, “Holy shit…’

The Fox slowly glances over the balcony. He sees Jay’s father standing in the middle of the dance floor, several armored police amongst him. He drops back down, mumbling, “Yeah. That’s a good way to describe it.”

“You know, you could have just waited till we opened.”

Aiden glances over, seeing Leon at the foot of the stairs, a hand in his pocket, clothes that seem to just be thrown on. He does not lay an eye on the two other psychics as he watches the police.

“Why wasn’t this place properly checked?” Jay’s father demands in a voice Aiden could describe as powerfully bitter.

“The owner is a psychic, sir, but he has caused no trouble for years and…ah…he’s--” He mumbles the last part, but Aiden hears it as ‘a victim of those radical police’.

“I’ve never caused trouble, Mr…” Leon begins.

“Peter Marcowicz,” The father speaks blankly.

“Alright, well can I please ask why you broke in? I’m going to have to pay for the doors you probably broke.”

“You’re known for harboring psychics.”

“Yeah. I am,” Leon says with a shrug, “So?”

“That’s illegal.”

“As of yesterday by impromptu marshal law,” Leon speaks, his jaw set, venom in his tone, “My deepest apologies if I didn’t want to kick out the one psychic I have with me in the pouring rain. I’ve never harbored your rouge psychics that you so violently despise.”

It is interesting how eloquent Leon got when talking to cops, Aiden thinks. It is rather amusing.

“I don’t mean the meek psychics that come through here for music,” Peter says slowly, “You harbor the person known as The Fox.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Jay feels like his world is collapsing in on itself. His father is about ten feet from him, and he knows Aiden is here.

“I’m sorry to say I don’t allow foxes at my club, sir,” Leon sighs, stretching his arms behind his head, his metallic limb shining in the dim light, “It’s bad for business.”

“Then would you mind if I tested something out?”

Jay sees Leon’s jaw tighten, but very slightly. He didn’t know how he could be so calm, like Aiden, who watches just as blank.

Aiden looks at him, taking the mask he left on the floor and handing it to him, “Put this on,” He whispers, barely audible. Jay nods, taking it from his hands just as a high-pitched shrill floods the room.

The younger psychic watches Aiden as he swears, loud and vivid, plugging his ears as the alarm becomes more intense. Jay almost couldn’t stand it, he has never seen Aiden in pain, never seen him so curled up in physical weakness. He is supposed to be feeling this. According to Aiden’s expression earlier, about the high frequencies. But he didn’t.

He didn’t feel a thing.

He hears some of the armed guards making their way up the stairs. He sees one struggling with Leon, who is collapsed at the top in similar anguish as Aiden.

“Jay,” He hears Aiden say through his teeth, “Mask… _now.”_

He takes little time to hesitate, pulling it back on and taking a deep breath before slowly standing, his hands up as the police train in on them. The alarm shuts off as one cop looks to Jay, “Who is this?”

Jay didn’t know how to answer. Obviously he had to pretend, he is just a human, and he didn’t have anything to do with it. He has to lie, lie like he usual did so naturally with his father. Now, now however he is stricken with nothing but angry bitterness. He wants to fight them, he wants to _break_ them for what they did.

So why does he stay silent?

“He’s human, that’s all I got,” One cops mutters as he trains his gun on Aiden, “Just bring him down with this one.”

The first looks to Jay, gesturing to the stairs, “Nice and easy…”

Jay slowly nods, but inside he feels deep tension. His father is down the stairs. His father who lost his wife, who could very easily pull off his mask and take him away from everything he wants and now loves.

But, he doesn’t have time to hesitate. He drops his arms slowly, following the cop down to the dance floor. His father looks toward them, Jay could feel his heart beating faster watching him tinted blue from the mask. The eye contact is brief as he turns toward Leon, dragged down by another cop.

“I don’t like being lied to,” He says tightly, “Now you just made it difficult.”

“Fuck you,” Leon spits, though the words are not angry, almost casual, amused by his situation, “I really hope you aren’t blaming me. I’m not exactly on good terms with your little army you built up over the years.”

“You’re…unfortunate circumstance doesn’t matter to me,” Peter says, “Lying out of spite. Killing people who want to protect civilians—“

“I got fucking _ambushed,”_ Leon suddenly snaps, jolting at the grip of the cop, writhing back as if utterly sore again, “You’re not protecting anyone. You’re hunting down people that are different because you are afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Peter speaks, completely steady, “And you’re making it worse.”

Jay frowns, the anger from before and from Leon he could feel is even brighter. Usually, from his experience, when psychics are angry, things move, things get out of control. However, everything is still. The frequency weakened them.

But not him. He wasn’t effected. He could do something. But he has to wait for the right moment, he needs to think.

“Does it matter what I say? Are you going the cut the rest of me up now?” Leon scoffs, “It didn’t end so well the last time but hey, you could always try again—“

“Leon.”

Jay feels his stomach twist at the voice. It is cold, deadly even in weakness. He looks over, seeing Aiden, flanked by two police, his eyes seem even more surreally bright than before, the green shining like some brilliant beacon. There is nothing soft about him, nothing that Jay saw in the alley or even just a couple minutes ago. He looks like a completely different person. The person he saw on the dock. The one that _kills._

Aiden finishes what he began, “It’s fine. Don’t make it worse.”

He sees Leon strangely obedient, but there is something that looks like laughter in the back of his eyes. Jay could say he feels the same way distantly.

Something tells him this will get interesting way too fast.

Jay’s father looks to Aiden, his expression changing just slightly. He speaks with the same amount of steel, “I thought it would be a bit harder to take you down.”

Aiden’s face is starkly bored, stoic, “You’re not the first man who’s said that to me.”

As Leon smirks, Jay laughs, laughs straight and short. He couldn’t help himself. He sees his father whip around, glaring with an expression Jay has seen a lot over the years.

“Who is this?” He demands the cop next to Jay. He looks flustered, probably by Aiden’s comment.

“We don’t know. He was up by the Fox, but he’s human. Wasn’t effected by the frequency.” The cop explains.

“He’s the DJ,” Leon speaks as if it were obvious, “You’re in a club, aren’t you?”

Peter moves closer to Jay, raising an eyebrow, “Your name?”

Jay stares, looking over at Aiden who is watching him with barely visible eyes. He can’t speak for him. He needs to work on the fly. He looks up at his father, eyes he’s lied to so often before “Default.”

He watches him sneer, “You’re actual name.”

“Default. You’ve got a problem with that?” Jay challenges, a growing strength in him, a strength built on rebellion and fire.

“Yes. Because that’s not a real name. That’s a concept.”

“Well bitchiness is just a concept too but you seem to be fluent in it.”

_“Why are you wearing a mask?”_ His father growls, his anger clear in the question. The simple question just because of the lack of comeback. Jay’s been through this song and dance before. And he feels the great and desperate need to dance even better.

“It’s a show thing,” He speaks, “And it’s less wear on the eyes up there. Strobe lights aren’t used much these days but they are killer.”

“Take it off.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Fuck you, that’s why.”

“Leave him alone, Marcowicz. He gets feisty if you talk to him for too long,” Leon says, rolls his shoulders only to be stopped by the cop, “It’s annoying as shit sometimes.”

“I hate to have employees so childish,” Peter says slowly, stepping away.

“He gets the job done,” Leon shrugs, “Are you going to leave my club or what?”

Peter ignores him yet again, turning back to Aiden. There is a viciousness in his eyes as he speaks, “You took my son.”

Aiden stares, “I did now? I’m sorry, but your little frequency burst is making my head hurt. Messes with my memory.”

“ _You_ carried of a boy from a protest five weeks ago,” Peter accuses harshly, stepping closer, “It was my son. You have him. Where is he?”

The Fox looks up at the ceiling, as if thinking about something, summoning thought, “Ah…right. That one. Jay, right?”

He hears his father suck in a breath, “Yes. Where is he? What have you done to him?”

Jay thought that he should feel some sense of urgency in his father’s plea. But, it isn’t much of a plea. It is a demand. A means to an end. He felt no love in his father’s voice, no desperate want to see his son again. He knew this as true. His father wanted to get his son back to say he got his son back. Nothing else. At least, not from what he hears.

Aiden watches Peter, his tone steadfast, “He’s fine. He’s safe. I never hurt him. Honestly…he’s much happier now.”

His father is positively shocked. He stares, unbelieving, “What? And you say you are familiar with happiness?”

“I’m familiar with _Jay.”_ Aiden says. Then smiles. It’s a twisted thing, terrifying. To Jay though, it was absolutely, chaotically attractive.

Peter stares, “What do you mean by that?”

“Does it matter?” Aiden scoffs, “If you think he wants to go back to you, you would be wrong. Tell me…do you want him back because you love him? Or is it just to say you got him back?”

“I want him back because it means he won’t be with _you,”_ Jay’s father growls, “You are nothing but a bad influence on him.”

“Oh, I see,” Aiden’s voice is vehement, like burning acid, “I’m the bad influence showing him how to use his gift, how to make him stronger and show him something beyond the four fucking walls of a room.”

“It was all I could do!” Peter shouts suddenly, “What the fuck was I supposed to do? I work with the biggest damned researching and police force for you freaks and to have my own _son_ be like you? No…no I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t deal with it.”

“So you locked him away. You didn’t want anyone to know. You couldn’t face it. Well,” Aiden narrows his eyes, “Look where that got you.”

Jay watches his father freeze, his muscles stiff with anger. With one, fluent motion, he pulls a pistol from his belt, shooting cleanly through Aiden’s leg.

The shot send rippling shock through Jay as Aiden curses, lagging against the grip of the cops as his leg blossoms red. Jay sucks in a breath, speaking without thought, ripping from the officer’s grip, _“Aiden!”_

All eyes turn to him, he stares back at them; all tinted luminescent blue.

Peter gestures to the officers still idle, “Deal with him,” He looks back at Aiden, eyes fiery, “Funny how weak you are without powers. And people think you are bulletproof.” He touches the gun to Aiden’s temple, the latter eyeing him, emotionless. Jay feels an officer grab his arm as he watches the action.

Two seconds later the officer is on the other side of the room.

The rest of the occupants of the room watch the body fly at break-neck speed, slamming into the wall. The cop moans, still moving. They turn back to Jay, his hands in fists, the fire bright and out of control. His anger at the world, at his father.

It is all breaking lose.

Peter drops his arm, staring, wide-eyed, “You’re one of them…”

Jay steps back, wishing with pure, livid intensity that his father could see the lightning in his eyes. He lifts his hand, feeling the energy of the machines above them. He flips the stereo on with a simple flick of the wrist, a loud beat flooding the room.

He speaks with perfect confidence, “I’m not getting paid enough for this, Mr. Marcowicz. I’m only here to make people dance.” He smiles, maliciously happy as the beat intensifies, “Let’s see how well your party can move.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

A ragged pain rips through Aiden’s leg as he’s dropped on the floor, the entire group, save Peter, converging on Jay. The psychic flips around, an intense shot of worry and frustrated anger rising from not being able to do a single thing, the frequencies still scrabbling his power. He hears the music that Jay had turned on, bright and energetic, breathlessly fast.

And apparently so was Jay, as he darts in between men and up the stairs, his mask flashing in the lights. He stops at the DJ set up, a spare stereo flying into one of the officers as he climbs about the instruments. He catapults off, Aiden sucking in a breath as he sees him grab onto the lights above.

“You know you are not getting a raise for this, Default!” Leon shouts over the music as Jay crouches on the lights.

“Fuck you, I’m saving your lives!” Jay shouts back, Aiden seeing his eyes close as the tables and chairs about them fly with vicious speed at the enemies.

Aiden feels arms around him, seeing Leon drag him across the room to the wall, leaning him against is as they watch the chaos.

Jay is moving just slower than a flash of lightning as he drops off the rafters onto one of the cops. Yet he tries to grab a man’s gun but is overpowered. He quickly squirms out of the fray, using his powers as strength, ripping a gun from one man’s hands, having it shoot another in the shoulder.

Jay doesn’t even know how to use a gun. He simply knows what one _looks_ like when it shoots. He imagines it, and it happens.

“That kid is something else…” Leon mumbles, “Something fierce.”

“Something valuable,” Aiden says, feeling a sense of remembrance. Jay is angry. He could _feel_ the bitterness in him, the thorn-covered pain and contempt over years of sheltered control. Bottled up inside, it is bound to burst.

Jay just saw him get shot in the leg. That was his trigger.

“He really didn’t like you getting hurt,” Leon says, rubbing his temples, “Fuck…my head.”

The two hear the song fade into silence, looking up at the chaos that had ensued, Jay standing among unconscious bodies, leaning heavily against the trashed bar. Aiden struggles to get up, wanting desperately to make sure he’s alright. Leon, however, keeps him still, “Your leg—“

Aiden sees Peter inching toward Jay, pistol in hand. He could see Jay’s breath is heavy, oblivious to the movement. The older psychic grabs a bar stool, standing, forcing his power back to the surface through the frequency-driven delusion. One of his swords flies from his coat, flying across to the bar and training on Peter.

The father holds up his hands, Jay turning at the sound of the sword. Peter sneers, “I should have expected something like this, a psychic ridden club with a psychic DJ.”

“Default, are you alright?” Aiden calls, keeping his identity concealed within that mask.

Jay takes a moment to answer, his voice strained, “Other that feeling like I ran a marathon, I’m fine…”

“That took a lot of energy,” Leon says, taking Aiden’s arm and helping him closer as Aiden keeps the sword afloat.

“A bit more than I wanted…” Jay sighs, looking back at his father, “Well this is a bit awkward, isn’t it?” there is a condescension in his voice that can only come from a resenting son. Aiden takes grip of the bar when he reaches it, close to Jay but not giving any idea of a closer relationship as he turns his attention to Peter.

“Now, answer this question,” He says, “Who told you about our weakness?”

Peter scoffs, laughing, “You can just bring this sword down through me. I’m not saying anything. This city doesn’t need more chaos.”

He is serious, and Aiden knew this. He has to try a bit harder, but a part of him hesitates in pursuing his usual methods on Jay’s father. He knows Jay won’t care, knows that whatever he did he would forgive him. Yet, he still hesitates.

“Got a difficult mind, Fox?”

Aiden looks up toward the balcony, a familiar purple-haired figure leaning on the railing. His grin makes the Fox want to aim a sword at him as well.

“Where the Hell have you been?” Aiden asks accusingly.

“Well that fucking alarm you could say woke me up,” He explains, stretching as he moves down the stairs, “Though I saw all the nonsense here and didn’t find it to my liking. I was gonna help the DJ, but he seemed to handle it himself pretty effectively.”

Nothing about this young man made Aiden trust him, but he knew Jay does, who watches with a slightly sleepy head. His breathing is soft and rhythmic in Aiden’s hearing.

Peter watches Wick, his eyes narrow, calculating. Aiden knows well enough the Will Benders could cause Amnesia, as to why Peter shows little remembrance of the face of his wife’s killer. He also knows that he can counter-act it, disrupt the power, and let the man see the murderer. He couldn’t get himself to, though, as amusing as it would be. There is more important information that he needed.

“We need to know who sold out our weakness,” Leon states, “Can you do that?”

Wick feigns offense, his grin relentless, “Yeah, I can do that,” He turns to Peter, “Alright, just a name, mate. Not that hard.”

Peter doesn’t speak, but watches Wick with wide eyes. It is a common tactic for humans aware of Will Benders not to speak. If they don’t speak, then they won’t have to reveal anything. Aiden scowls slightly, very certain that this young Bender is far beyond that idea.

The purple-haired psychic sighs, his hand up now, making a gentle, caressing motion, as if trying to guide the words out like a lost dog. “A name. I can see it in your thoughts, mate. He said a bloody name.”

Peter’s expression changes, dropping his gun and holding his head, stumbling against the wall, cursing vividly. Aiden moves his sword away, watching.

_“S-STOP—“_ Peter shouts, sliding down the wall, _“Please!”_

Wick steps closer, “Then give me the name, mate. It isn’t that hard.”

Peter wraiths back gripping his head. Aiden can only imagine what pain he is experiencing. He could care less, yet he looks at Jay, his face along with his feeling hidden under the mask. Yet, Aiden feels a hand curl around his, being gripped tight.

Aiden speaks up, “Wick, stop. He’s not going to say it.”

“I don’t lose, Fox,” Wick responds, eyeing him with bright grey eyes, then back, “I’m almost there.”

He hears Peter scream, loud in the acoustic room. Aiden twitches as Jay squeezes his hand, cutting into his skin.

_“Wick,”_ Jay suddenly shouts, making the purple-haired psychic look over, “Stop…he won’t say it.”

The Will Bender stares, lifting his hand, and swiping it down, as if to stop a band. Peter falls silent, gasping over and over.

“I didn’t think everyone would be so fucking sensitive. He tried to kill you all,” Wick says blankly, “Although…didn’t think he’d be this tough—“

“Iraq…”

The psychics look to the struggling Peter, his eyes strained, his skin pale, “He told me…his name was Iraq.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

_I should be enjoying this_ Jay thinks to himself as his father twitches in deep mental pain. The sight made him take Aiden’s hand, as if that is always what he did. There is drips of blood on his fingers from when he had cut him with his nails. He didn’t know if it is just because he is incredibly tired from the fight that he barely remembers. Or if he really did care about his father. Then again, he didn’t think he could watch the most despicable man in the world be tortured like that. It is all too surreal, and his imagination too realistic in imagining what Wick could be doing to his father’s head.

But it is over now, he said a name. Iraq.

“I’ve heard it before,” Leon speaks, “He’s part of the Club.”

“Of course he is,” Aiden scoffs, unaffected by the past event as Jay assumed he would be, “But why would he do that? Especially being part of that business.”

“Could be revenge,” Wick offers, looking over at them, “Maybe he hates where he is. Although it really doesn’t matter, does it?”

“No,” Leon agrees, “He’s your man. Now…if you don’t mind, I have to make up an alibi before more police get here.”

Jay looks around the trashed club, wondering what kind of alibi you can get from this. He sees Aiden reach into his pocket, taking out a ridiculous stack of money, placing it in Leon’s hand, “Blame it on me. Make up some dumb story about the Fox robbing you, the press will have a field day.”

Leon smirks, closing his fingers around the money, “Will do, Pearce. Now,” he reaches over the bar, producing a first aid kit and shoving it at him, “please get the fuck out of my club.”

“Right,” Aiden takes Jay’s shoulder, “We need to go.”

“Wait…” Jay looks at Leon, “So am I fired or something?”

The man grins, throwing his hands up, chuckling, “Why don’t you come back when things are less hectic.”

The invitation is good enough. He knows Aiden wants to leave. He also had a bleeding leg that no one seems to be concerned about.

“I should get out of here too then,” Wick walks to the door, stopping for a moment, “Oh…there was another thing…Do you know Damien Brenks?”

Aiden stares, “Yes…why?”

“Because I got pinned in an alley a night ago with some assholes trying to find the guy who sold out the weakness. And they weren’t gonna leave without an answer…”

Jay frowns as Aiden does.

“And Damien was the only guy I knew who made an invention for that weakness—“

“You told them—“

“I said it _might_ be him!” Wick grumbles, “Calm down. There were only a few of them. Not anything big.”

Jay could feel Aiden repressing his irritation. He slips his hand on Jay’s arm, pulling him to a back door, “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Can I remind you that your _leg is bleeding?_ ” Jay says quickly as he’s pulled out into the open air. The fresh, early morning chill awakes Jay’s senses just before Aiden collapses on the alley wall. Jay’s heart skips, kneeling next to him.

Aiden groans, looking at him, “You can take the mask off now, you know.”

Jay touches the object, forgetting it was on his face. He rips it off, running a hand through his dark hair, “I passed out when I got shot in the ankle.”

“Well, I’ve been shot way more times than you,” He says, handing him the first aid kit, “You passed out from the shock.”

“R-right,” Jay takes the kit, rolling up Aiden’s pant leg, “I don’t exactly know how to stich things like you either.”

“Just listen to what I tell you,” Aiden says calmly, beginning to give him instructions. Jay listens, doing as he says, forcing his hands not to shake. He can feel Aiden’s eyes on him as he starts wrapping bandages around the mended wound, “You did very well back there.”

Jay looks up, “I…don’t really know what happened. I was just…angry.”

The older psychic laughs shortly, “That was pretty obvious,” He expression grows more serious, “But you could do with more strength. You can’t rely on your powers.”

“Well…apparently that frequency doesn’t affect me—“

“Let’s keep that a secret,” Aiden frowns, “That’s something we don’t need anyone to know. The less they know about you the better.” He slowly stands as Jay moves his hands away.

Jay moves up as well, nodding, “Ok…what about Damien and Clara?”

Aiden’s eyes flash, “Fuck…those two…” He moves out into the street, Jay close behind him.

The older psychic looks at him as they hurry down street, “Jay,”

“Yeah?”

“There is more I don’t want you to talk about.”

Jay looks to him, knowing exactly what he means, the mere thought heating his chilled skin. He nods quietly.

“And Jay…” The younger psychic sees Aiden stop at a bike, “Don’t hate me.”

Jay smiles, “I don’t. Far from it.”

He moves forward as Aiden gets on the bike, sitting behind him. He wraps his arms around him, grinning.

“You’re bring conspicuous.”

“I know.”

“Stop it,” Aiden can’t hide the slight amusement in his voice as he commands the bike to come to life, roaring down the street.

“Just try and keep your eyes on the road,” Jay says slyly, “I’ll keep it a secret.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can feel you all around me  
> Thickening the air I’m breathing  
> Holding onto what I’m feeling  
> Savoring this heart that’s healing
> 
> All Around Me - Flyleaf  
> (Inspiration: Aiden/Defalt )

The bridge is already turned over when they arrive at the bunker. Jay can see Aiden’s face crease as he mutters something about how no one forgets to turn it back before leaving. He gets off, prompting Jay to do the same as make their way across the bridge.

“You think they are dead?” Jay asks, watching the older man’s slight limp as he moves quickly along the rusted steel.

“No. No they don’t die that easily,” He says, “But they could be hurt. We don’t know how many actually showed up.”

“I guess I can see a bit why you don’t trust Wick,” Jay admits, although it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d like to think that the first person he met in Chicago wasn’t an all-out evil person. Then again, he wouldn’t really be surprised either. But, he saw a strange side of Wick when he was prodding at his father’s memory, certain violence in his eyes.

And the blurry image of someone standing by him.

He couldn’t say he lost all trust in him though. Aiden is a maliciously violent person, yet Jay cannot stray from him in the slightest.

Aiden looks to him, the muscles in his face relaxing as Jay relays suspicion on Wick, “At least you are considering it. I never said he was evil, Jay, I just think he’s hiding rather important information.”

“Like what?”

“Well I doubt he is working alone. He’s part of a group, he has to be.”

Jay pauses, thinking about it but beginning to feel the urge to leave the subject. “We should make sure that they are alright.”

He could tell by Aiden’s expression what he is trying to do, but is gracious enough to let him off the previous conversation, nodding once and stopping at the boxcar. Jay looks around, seeing two figures across the lot on the edge of the river. A familiar, creeping beat reverberating along Jay’s skin.

“They are over there…” He speaks, prompting Aiden to turn, a moment later limping with surprising speed toward them. Jay is close on his heels, seeing Clara first, blood staining her skin and clothes, Damien beside her, brushing dust off him, the water lapping at their feet is the diluted red.

They both look to them at the same time, Clara gasping and bolting over to Aiden, nearly knocking him over in a rough embrace. The same fit of burning jealousy flares in the back of Jay’s chest, not being able to help it. It fizzles slowly as she turns and hugs him as well, the act comforting after what happened at the club, although she ends it by messing up his hair like he is a child.

“Well you took your sweet time to come back,” Damien says, having not moved from the river’s edge, “You weren’t even here for the fireworks.”

“We found out who set them off though,” Aiden looks to Damien, his eyes steady, as if having an invisible conversation with his past mentor who rolls his eyes in response.

“We figured it was him,” He says, “But dare I ask how you found out about it?”

Jay watches Aiden’s growing scowl, “The story is long and painful.”

“Ah, my favorite,” Damien limps past them and toward the boxcar, “You tend to have a lot of those.”

Aiden lets out a default growl, following after him, leaving Jay and Clara to trail behind. The latter looks as if she wants to speak with Jay about something but hasn’t initiated it. The younger psychic puts his hands in his pockets, giving her a questioning look, “You want to say something?”

“Aiden looks different. What did you do to him?” She asks strangely, gesturing to the man ahead of them, “When I met him he was exactly what I expected: all rough and cracked, just there for what he wanted and nothing else. He has been changing recently. And it’s your fault.”

This, for some reason, makes Jay smirk, “I tend to have that affect on him.”

Clara stops, looking at him with an amusing surprise, one that make’s Jay laugh out loud. She smacks his arm in response, a small smile playing on her lips “I see he’s affected you too.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

The bunker is a complete disaster, paired with sparks and blood. Aiden looks around with a violent scoff, mentally stabbing that Will Bender an obscene amount of times. Damien mentioned that they disposed of all the bodies but there would have to be a lot of cleaning to get rid of all the blood that has already rotted the air in a coppery odor. He had noticed Jay’s nose wrinkle at it, cursing at the smell. It was rather cute, but the thought was pushed away to give room for the amount of explaining he had to accomplish.

Now, late in the night he lays in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His mind and body are sore from intensive cleaning as well as the entire day in general. When he and Jay finished their tale it left nothing but blankness and nodding from their companions. Damien is the first to comment, mentioning Iraq as a prominent face of the Club as Leon had said. He knew where they could find him, but it would be tricky considering his rank. He also took the time to give Jay his weapon, the electrified partisan staff. The look in Jay’s eyes was a mix between bright excitement and concerning joy as he had practiced swinging the staff about with a devious grin.

Aiden lifts a hand, a stream of slivery sand lifting off a bowl on his wardrobe, loitering along in the air to his hand’s movements. The sand shifts and sifts in gentle waves, relaxing his mind. He closes his eyes in the darkness, his hand still conducting the stream when he suddenly feels his control of it disappear. His eyes snap open as he feels a form plop onto the open space of the bed. He looks over, Jay laying on his back, commanding the sand with his small hand, whistling some beat that the object makes as it flies in the air.

Part of the older psychic wondered why Jay looks so different now. It is a stupid curiosity considering that Aiden caused it. Jay looks older, almost too rough, all the exterior innocence has eroded off like a second skin he no longer needed.

“Jay,” Aiden speaks, his voice quiet and hoarse, “What are you doing in here?”

Jay looks over at him, his crystalline eyes insulted, as if Aiden’s question has an obvious answer. He moves the sand back in the bowl, “I wanted to see you.”

It took a couple moments for Aiden’s full memory to return to him after being able to relax for all of two minutes. He looks back up at the ceiling, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Couldn’t you wait till I got sleep?”

“Oh come on, you’re not even trying,” Jay murmurs with childish amusement.

Aiden closes his eyes, “And you are trying too hard.”

“Am not, haven’t you ever had this experience at all?” He rolls close to him, his small body curling against him, “If you say this is your first time I’m going to have to think you are lying.”

Aiden shoves his face away, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, “It’s not, but if you haven’t noticed I lost my interest in that.”

He watches Jay’s expression grow more reserved. He sits up as well, his eyes bright in the darkness, “Nothing whatsoever?”

“Nothing. Why is that so surprising?” Aiden looks at the younger psychic who merely gives a sheepish look, lying on his back.

“I’m just saying since you kiss so well.”

Aiden couldn’t help but laugh quietly, shortly, at his comment. It is cute how utterly unsubtle Jay is when it comes to sexual urges. Out of everything, that is what the older psychic had the easiest time pushing away. Then again, everything he did before was because of love. Protection is just a form of love, even if it is clingy and oppressive. He loved Lena almost like a daughter. Everything dissipated after she was gone. There was nothing he valued more than her and she just disappeared. Now though, Jay is something different. He cannot replace Lena, not that anyone could. But the hollowness she left behind Jay is slowly filling in.

“I guess I never lost that.” He says as Jay scoots closer, leaning against him.

“Just everything else.”

“You don’t know that,” Jay says quietly, looking up at him with a gentle smile.

Aiden stares at the blue for a long time, smiling at Jay’s desperate nature. But fatigue pulled him down like heavy chains. Seeing him here only made him worry more about the days to come. He moves Jay away, lying back with an arm over his eyes, “Jay, I need to sleep.”

He hears a disappointed sigh escaped the younger psychic as he feels his small amount of weight leaving the bed. Aiden himself sighs as well, beginning to slip into unconsciousness again when he feels a small bit of warmth on his forehead.

He moves his arm, looking up at Jay who grins impishly. He speaks quietly, “Night, Fox.” He pecks him gently on the lips, quickly vanishing from the room.

Aiden listens to the door close with a tiny click, staring back at ceiling, comforting heat with lingering on his face. He closes his eyes, smirking in the darkness.

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Jay finds himself rather irritated leaving Aiden’s room. He supposes he isn’t used to the feeling of being so unbearably attracted to another person in his isolated life. Aiden, he knows, hasn’t had any drive for it, this bothers him.

“You look disappointed,” Damien says from across the room, prompting Jay’s thoughts to the wondering if the man even sleeps at all. He has yet to change out of his bloody clothes that are partially wet from scrubbing water.

The younger psychic moves to meet him, shrugging once despite himself. He speaks tiredly, “He’s not exactly in the best shape.”

“None of us are,” Damien looks up at him, his eyes bright, icy blue, he speaks with a knowing smirk, “So was he a good kisser?”

Jay stares, not answering for a moment as he tries to decide how Damien found out. He always seems to know what is going on regardless on how well you hide it. Just by the expression he gives he has already answered the mentor who laughs in response.

“So it was the obvious, huh?” Jay asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Honestly, you hid it much better than Pearce, kid,” Damien admits, “He isn’t too good with emotions if you haven’t noticed.”

Jay eyebrow raises, _“He_ was the one that tipped you off?”

“Is that hard to believe,” He chuckles, “I guess you haven’t known him for as long as me. He’s a quick fuse, and so protective. I could tell by the way he looked over at you, waiting for you to get shot through the window.”

Jay had looked over at Aiden several times while they cleaned the bunker. They kept apart but there was always this look in his emerald eyes…He realizes after a couple moments that Damien is still standing there, smiling at him. He feels like he should be irritated by his amusement, but the thought is never fully realized.

“I can only tell you one piece of advice,” Damien continues as if the younger didn’t completely zone out. He watches him with an odd amount of seriousness, “Don’t die.”

The only response that Jay conjures is a nod, and a smile, “I’ll try not to,” He moves past him toward his room, calling back toward Damien halfway there, “He was an _excellent_ kisser by the way.”

He hears the older man laugh out loud, muttering something that Jay couldn’t quite hear as he goes into his room, plopping down on his bed. There is a sudden, swift wave of fatigue that falls over him after the day’s events. He moves an arm over his eyes, thinking about his past dream of his strange other-self laughing at another Aiden.

Curiously he rolls to the side, plucking the luminescent mask from the floor and looking at it curiously. It is frayed from a long stay in storage, the glass cracked on edges.

“You seem a lot more confident in yourself than me, Defalt,” Jay mutters quietly, not in pity, but in envy, some foreign envy for greater strength and power. So many years he has been inferior to everyone. Or at least considered so. Things are different now. Some kind of opening rears in his thoughts, he had the same power, more power than he realized.

He grins, setting the mask down gently and closing his eyes, “Don’t worry, Fox,” He speaks as if Aiden lies next to him, “I’m not dying anytime soon.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

"If you can't handle yourself then I'm not teaching you right," Aiden says his brazen swords floating lazily in an arch. He insisted after only a couple sessions with Jay’s new weapon that they should fight one another. Despite Jay’s revelation a couple nights ago he didn’t exactly take comfort in fighting the man. Aiden is considerably stronger physically, and had little to no mercy.

 

He watches the twelve blades snap into batons wearily, "I'm a bit outnumbered."

 

"Never stopped you before." Aiden points out flicking dust off his jacket that he wore definitely, even with the sun being particularly obnoxious that day.

 

"Point taken and also ignored," Jay grumbles, "You are going to kick my ass."

 

Aiden gives him an impatient look, "What? Do you need incentive to be confident?"

 

"Well--"

 

"Beat me decently and you'll have it."

 

Jay mood brightens shamelessly as he knows what he's talking about. He has been relentless in keeping their relationship subtle. This is even when Damien and Clara are fully aware of it. Aiden would kiss him gently in passing but there has been nothing like that and Jay is strongly against it.

 

Despite how overwhelmingly desirable that prospect is Jay speaks with irritation, "As if that would make it better."

 

"It will."

 

"You think my sexual urges are going to help me in this?"

 

"Immensely." Aiden dares to smirk. Jay scoffs, hating how right he is. And also how attractive it was when he smirked.

 

"Cocky bastard..."

 

"I'll give you a pity hug when I kick your ass."

 

"Alright!" Jay takes his staff from its plane on his lower back, "You're lucky you're cute when you're an asshole."

 

"I knew you would agree," Aiden says with a smile.

 

"Just don't disappoint me when I beat you," Jay speaks back, ready to fight.

 

When the sparing begins it takes little time for it to escalate. Movements are quick and precise, canceling one another out.

 

Jay handles against the twelve batons, dodging blows, traversing the boxcar yard with quick grace. Aiden follows in a similar fashion. He could instinctively hear a beat to their movements, like a rehearsed dance. Like music unbridled.

 

"There is more to a fight than dodging," Aiden calls, slipping his hands in his pockets, "You're not going to beat me running away."

 

Jay growls, more irritated on how distracted he could get with rhythms. His staff smacks against the batons, finding no opening to counter.

 

If he is going to get anywhere with him he had to disarm him somehow. He quickly runs through the possible powers he could use, what he was taught.

 

An idea sparks.

 

He focuses on the batons, feeling a powerful force of control over them. A field psychics held over certain objects as Aiden had told him weeks ago. He concentrates, breaking down their walls as he runs along the top of the boxcars. Aiden keeps up easily, just what he needs.

 

He keeps his focus as he jumps down near the end of the island, a stack of boxcars blocking the shore. He is cornered now. He has to break through. The field is strong on the batons, understandably, but he wasn’t going to get beat by him. Not this time.

 

"Maybe I was wrong," Aiden says, looking down at his watch, "we've only been at this eight minutes."

 

"Yeah..." Jay says with a sly smile, feeling the shape of the batons in his mind, "This did end pretty fast."

 

Aiden's expression changes, but Jay barely notices, reversing control, the batons freezing before stabbing them into the dirt. All except one that he plucks from the air, commanding the blade to return. With celerity he shoves Aiden against the rusted boxcar side, the sword close to his neck.

 

There is a pause, a beat of silence as they watch one another. Aiden had no fear, his eyes lit with amusement.

 

"I win," Jay says breathlessly. All the energy he poured into the fight dissipates slowly, leaving lingering static. He moves the sword away, stabbing it into the ground. He grips the front of Aiden’s jacket; pulling him close, "Now, keep your promise."

 

He doesn't wait for the man to respond, kissing him needlessly gentle at first. Aiden take control a second later, ripping apart any established levity with his fire. His hand pushes against the back of Jay's neck, fueling the insatiable need to be closer than possible. Jay lifts himself, wrapping his legs around Aiden's waist, losing himself in his fire.

 

Aiden relaxes against the steel wall, supporting Jay's small body gently. The younger psychic pulls away, his forehead touching Aiden's, feeling the pressure of his hands against his back. He listens to his soft, caressing breaths for what seems like eons.

“Did I satisfy you now?” Aiden asks rather sarcastically.

Jay smirks, jumping off him, stretching, “You could do better.”

The older psychic raises his eyebrows, “Well, fuck,” He says, suddenly wrapping an arm around Jay and pulling him back, speaking roughly in his ear, “I’ll try harder next time.”

Jay laughs shortly, wiggling easily out of his grip, “You had your chance, bitch.”

“Oh, now you’re hurting my feelings.” Aiden leans against the boxcar again, sitting casually in the dirt, tilting his head back, closing his eyes in the light of the sun.

Jay sighs, sitting beside him, his muscles still twitching from the prior events. Aiden sees this, taking his hand, “Have you always twitched like that?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” Jay answers, “Or energetic.”

“Which one are you right now?”

Jay looks at him, simply watching the green mingle with the sunlight. He says, “Neither.”

“Or both.”

“Yeah, or that.”

There is a silence for a long time, the only noise from the sloshing water and the swirling steam in the city. Jay leans against him, “Do you want to find Iraq?”

Aiden looks down at him, “He betrayed the psychics. I’m sure a lot of people want to find him.”

“But you want to find him first,” Jay guesses, looking ahead and watching dust roll in the wind, “I want to find him. He told my father how to hurt you.”

“He told him how to hurt all psychics,” Aiden looks down to meet his eyes, “Except you. Because you’re…something else.”

Jay grins, “I always believed I was better than everyone else.”

Aiden chuckles dryly and pulls him closer. The action makes Jay’s grin brighter than before. Something about the older man actually laughing makes him feel accomplished.

He feels a sudden, wispy aura close by. He sits up just as Clara comes into view, watching them for a moment. Jay can tell she wants to smile but something prevents her. Aiden is quick to stand, brushing off dust, “What is it?”

Clara pulls herself from a certain daze, looking to Aiden blankly, “We found out where Iraq may be.”

“Great…that was quick,” Aiden says. Jay stands; stuffing his hands in his pockets and decides to ask the more avoided question.

“So, do we have a plan?”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Wick watches as the coffee goes completely cold in the cup, having been completely untouched. He isn’t much of a coffee drinker. He used to like tea but now the liquid makes his blood run as cold as the coffee.

“You really caught yourself in a web, didn’t you?” Quinn says from across the office, as if not even talking to Wick, although he knows he is. It is the first time he spoke after a long, long silence that seemed like years. His bright grey eyes look toward the old man, then back to his cold coffee.

“It’s a plan. And I needed a scapegoat.”

“I didn’t think your relationship with Iraq was that turbulent,” He hears him laugh, barely, it is broken and wrinkled in performance, “It doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

Wick’s expression hardens, “No. If you don’t care I could care even less.”

He barely hears the man move more toward him, not until a gloved hand touches his shoulder, “You are powerful with manipulation, Wick. Do you believe so?”

It is an odd question, though the Will Bender is used to it. He nods once, though stands to move from his touch. “What exactly do you want from them anyway?”

Quinn watches him with cloudy eyes, smiling. The motion chills Wick’s skin. He speaks gently, “Have you ever heard of a way to take psychic’s power?”

Wick has on several occasions. A psychic’s power is through his or her mind, so theoretically a Will Bender could tap into it. However he passed it off as a rumor sprouted but Will Benders to have them more feared. But now that Quinn speaks to him about it, it makes him curious.

“Yeah. I’ve heard of it,” He says, his skin crawling more as Quinn’s smile grows.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.  
> It’s been awhile.  
> Let’s do this.
> 
> As a child, you would wait, and watch from far away  
> But you always knew that you would be the one to work while they all played  
> And you…you’d lay, awake at night and scheme  
> Of all the things that you would change  
> But it was just a dream.
> 
> Warriors – Imagine Dragons   
> (Inspiration: Damien)

There is no plan.

 At least there isn’t in the general consensus of the four psychics. Aiden sighs, not amused by the start. He is not about to run haphazardly into a Club hideout without some sort of strategy, knowing Jay’s eagerness to go there. He is anything _but_ careful.

 

“Will it really be that hard to sneak in there?” He asks, “If someone causes a distraction…”

 

“If he’s where we think he is there isn’t exactly going to be a welcome party for us,” Damien speaks, his voice already sounding unwilling to participate.

 

“No one welcomes us to anything,” Aiden says dryly, his eyes following Jay as he is wondering away, “Jay.”

 

The young psychic turns, looking toward them all, “What is the name of the building again?”

 

“Rossi-Fremont, an old set of apartment buildings, it’s been abandoned for a long time, now it’s their fortress.” Clara explains, “It won’t be easy to get in, let alone find Iraq.”

 

Aiden watches Jay’s face change considerably, he asks, “Did you think of something?”

 

“Sort of,” He answers, his eyes downcast, thinking, “…What if I tried to visualize the place? With my powers.”

 

Aiden easily forgets that Jay is a Visionary. It is hard for him to imagine him as anything but something to protect now. Despite making him stronger, most likely able to defend himself now, that’s all he thought of.

 

“Go ahead,” Damien says shortly, defying every answer in Aiden’s expression, “Don’t know how you’d go about doing that.”

 

“I’ll improvise,” Jay says, turning toward the Bunker.

“I don’t think that will work,” Aiden sighs, “There has to be some kind of method to it.”

 

Jay looks at him as if he is an alien, his eyebrow raises, “The fuck are you talking about? You improvise all the time—oh, unless getting shot in the leg by my father was all planned out strategically. Then maybe you’re the Visionary here.” He ends with a smirk, beginning his walk back to the warehouse.

 

Aiden hears Clara repressing her laughter while Damien did nothing of the sort, speaking between his chuckling, “Now _what_ have you created, Pearce?”

 

The psychic looks ahead at Jay as he vanishes into the boxcar. He smiles, just slightly, “Hell if I know.”

 

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

There were various things that Jay and the others picked off the bodies of thugs; loose wallets, key chains, communicators. The young psychic looks about them for some spark. Out of all things Aiden has helped him with, visions were something he could not explain. They seem to come in some haphazard attempt to help him, but he hasn’t had one since the boardwalk. He couldn’t say he counted the strange dreams, those were just nonsense.

 

He feels Aiden’s Aura as he lifts a pair of keys. He speaks idly, trying to distract from the trouble he is currently having, “I’ve always wanted to say something irritating before walking away dramatically.”

 

“You’re finally acting like the rest of us,” He says dryly, his being appearing beside him, a hand gripping the edge of the table, eyes watching the scattered objects, “You’re not finding anything, are you?”

 

“Is it that obvious?”

 

“You and ‘covert’ don’t go together,” Aiden lifts a wallet up, looking at the ID inside, “You are an entertainer if anything. You like to make your presence known.”

 

His voice is neither condescending or complimentary. It is in that strange void that his tone seems to occupy ninety-nine percent of the time. He drops the keys, “Well that’s not going to help me in this situation is it?”

 

“No. Just thought you should know you are shit at being sneaky.” When his comment is met with nothing Aiden diverts back to the subject, “Look, we’ll find another way in.”

 

“Nope. I’m figuring this out. Even if it’s not to get to Iraq it’s so I can understand this vision bullshit.” He looks back at the junk on the table, feeling no sense of power from anything. Most of the time he feels faint or there is a vicious headache. There is nothing here.

 

All he can sense is Aiden standing next to him quietly, waiting for him to figure it out. He wonders to himself how long he would stand there watching. It pulled unnecessary pressure from him.

 

“You’re not getting anywhere.” He speaks again as if it is the first time.

 

“Well it doesn’t help that you’re breathing down my neck,” He argues, but noncommittally, just enough to sound irritated.

 

“I thought that would help you do better. It worked last time.”

 

Jay slowly sighs, “I’m starting to like emotionless Aiden better than sassy Aiden.”

 

“That was sass?” Aiden’s eyes dart to the boxcar entrance as it is heard lowering, and back, “I was just pointing out your weakness.”

 There is a small twitch that curves on the younger psychic’s lips, “You’re not a weakness.”

 

When three Auras dominate the entrance they turn. Damien carries himself in, scowling. Behind him is Clara, then Wick, rolling his shoulders, looking as if he was just thrown against the wall. Jay looks toward Aiden, watching his expression darken.

 

“You followed us.” He says toward Wick, nothing welcoming in his tone.

 

Wick doesn’t look at him, appealing to Jay with an innocent stare, “I actually made a couple stops beforehand but _then_ I followed, yeah.” He stretches, looking about the bunker, “Nice place you got. Smells like blood though.”

 

“Fuck,” Damien mutters, “I wonder why.”

 

“I said I was sorry,” Wick says near Jay, Aiden’s glare stopping him from moving any further.

 

“I just barely heard you before he slammed into the boxcar,” Clara says, though her voice has far less venom than the two men, “You said you were here to help so help before they kill you.”

 

“You’re going to Rossi-Fremont, right? I can help with that,” he looks toward Jay again, “I can give you a vision of the building. I’ve been there.”

 

“Been there?” Aiden steps forward, “And what were you doing?”

 

“Does it matter?” Wick frowns, most likely aware how inadequate the answer was at this point. He sighs, dropping his arms, “Fine…I may have dealt with them before. Just for a short while. I was desperate.”

 

“You really are keeping convenient information from us a lot,” Aiden takes another step forward, his eyes burning, “What are you really here for?”

 

Jay watches Wick for a moment in the pause, his fingers twitch slightly, very slightly, his jaw set as if something was about to burst from him; something crucial, something he had little control over. Instead, his voice was hard, confident, “I’m just here to help, Fox.”

 

He feels something change in Wick, his beat, the music hit a different pitch, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Wick doesn’t fear Aiden. Then again, neither does Clara or Damien, but the confidence is almost violent, like a rising crescendo.

 

He blinks away the thoughts. The point is that he had information.

 

Slowly, he moves between the two, looking at Aiden with a hopefully readable expression before looking to Wick, “What do you have?”

 

Wick smiles, again, it felt different but he holds out a hand, “I’ve only been there once or twice but I’m sure you could create an image of it.”

 

The young psychic looks at the hand, then at Wick, “I need you to tell me straight. Are you here to help?”

 

Wick seems baffled that he questions it, but nods, “Yes, Jay, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

 

_But you would lie to them_ it was his own voice this time, his thought immediately. Instinct. That’s what he usually listens to isn’t it? Then why is he reaches for his hand?

 

He feels his fingers curl around Wick’s, images flashing across his mind. An abandoned complex littered with hazard-worthy shrapnel and collapsed walls. Men posted among the ruins, a control center at the top floor. And entrance, underground, barely used.

 

When he feels Wick release him he just barely registers it. He blinks several times, stance slightly wobbled as he looks at the others.

 

“…An entrance,” He says quickly, as if the image plastered in his mind would fade from his memory in mere seconds, “Underground, through the sewers.”

 

“Pleasant.” Damien says, looking to Aiden, “Looks like you’re going to be crawling through those.”

 

“Here I thought you were going to do some fucking leg work for once—wait,” He stops, his eyes darting to Damien’s metal leg and back, “Sorry, forgot.”

 

Damien steps back, looking away with a shake of the head, “You know that hurts me so much. I thought we had something. And you’re just breaking my heart.”

 

Aiden shuts up, eyes narrowed, “Don’t even go there.”

 

“I won’t when you stop stabbing a poor old man’s soul,” He says with little pain or real hurt in his voice, looking back at Jay, “You and the purple kid are going with Aiden.”

 

“No.” Aiden said immediately, “Jay isn’t going.”

 

“Yeah I am, I’m your fucking map.” Jay protests, “And you’d rather have Wick as company? You can barely look at him without ripping his head off.”

 

“That’s because I don’t believe a single word he’s saying,” He glares to Wick, “If he’s coming with us then he stays close and without weapons.”

 

“I don’t need a weapon, Fox,” Wick says defensively, “Too bad you do.”

 

“You’re going to need on—“

 

“Aiden,” Jay interjects, trying a smile, “Just… _try_ not to kill him just yet. He can help!”

 

The older psychic watches him, seeing his expression and scoffs, “Alright. _Fine._ But I mean what I say about him staying close.”

 

“Because I’m going to wonder away into some asshole’s bullets,” Wick grumbles, stretching again.

 

Jay looks at the floor, thoughts wandering, feeling like he is about to walk into his own destruction.

 

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

The sewers are far worse than Jay imagined them.

 

They move along the edge, sludge and murky water moving along in the other direction. Jay walks in the front, his eyes icy and bright in the dark, seeing the map in his mind. Behind him Wick trudged along, a sword hovering near him as Aiden follows at the end.

 

“Is this necessary?” Wick asks, poking Aiden’s floating sword, “I feel like we’ve been here before.”

 

“Funny how that works,” Aiden says, “I usually point swords at people I don’t like.”

 

“You should really deal with your hatred in a more positive way,” Wick grins, “Ever tried finding other outlets?”

 

Jay could practically feel Aiden’s eyes on him as he asks that question before he hears him answer, “Punching pillows doesn’t work.”

 

The younger psychic stops, looking over at a narrow hallway and cutting into it, happy that the smell begins to fade. He turns, walking backwards as he talks to Wick, “So why _were_ you here exactly?” he asks despite not really caring for his purpose. He knew it would relax Aiden though.

 

Wick seems to know this, glancing back at Aiden’s glaring green eyes and back, “I told you before that I’ve dealt with them. I’ve met Iraq too.”

 

“Is he going to be a problem?” Aiden asks, shortly, impatiently.

 

“He’s fucked up in the head,” Wick informs, tapping his purple-dyed hair, “Too much war and drugs…most likely.”

 

“Fantastic,” Jay mutters, stopping short as he hears footsteps above.

 

“We are right under the building,” Aiden says, glancing toward a set of stairs leading to a collapsed door, “We need to go there most likely.”

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Wick turns to the other side of the floating sword, looking at them both, “For all of us at least. Iraq can sense Mr. Fox’s Aura from ten miles away.”

“How could he catch his Aura out of everyone else?” Jay asks, feeling the beats of a variety of powers, all different, a maze of rhythms.

 

“I don’t know if you are aware of this, but not many people like him,” Wick gestures to the floating sword still trained on him as opposed to Aiden himself.

 

“I never intended for them to ‘like’ me, if you aren’t aware of that,” Aiden looks to Jay, “I will go, you stay here.”

 

“You heard him, you are going to get caught if you go up there,” Jay smirks, “Someone isn’t going to be very covert.”

 

Aiden’s mouth twitches up just slightly, “Yours is going to attract attention as well.”

 

“They aren’t going to know his Aura,” Wick defends, “It will catch their attention, sure, but they won’t immediately start shooting and flinging things at his hiding spot.”

 

“I’m not sending him in there alone.” Aiden’s voice is final, aggressive with his protection. As much as Jay admired it he feels a sense of purpose in this task.

 

“I can do it,” He speaks up, and without hesitation he goes to the door. He’s halfway through knocking away the first piece of rubble blocking the door when Aiden takes his arm, stopping the process.

 

“Jay, you’re not doing this alone. There are possibly hundreds of psychics that want to kill you.”

 

“So we are on the same playing field,” Jay argues, “I’m not a piece of china, you know, I can take a couple hits. I beat you in a fight!”

 

“Yes but I am different than them—“

 

“How exactly?” Jay asks, “Other than being a little, tiny bit less of a jackass most of the time. And kissing well—“

 

“I didn’t try to _kill_ you back there.” Aiden’s eyes are hard, “You don’t know what you’re getting into and I will _not_ let you get die.”

 

The silence is quick and painful to stand in. The psychics stare at one another with blank, clinging promise; their Aura’s beating softly, barely there.

 

Jay’s eyes glance back at the tunnel, “Aiden…Wick is gone.”

 

Aiden looks back, “Fucking bastard—“ He moves away, already running, _“Stay there.”_ He orders before disappearing back down the tunnel.

 

Jay stares, waiting, listening for Aiden’s footsteps to echo into nothing before continuing to move the rubble.

 

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

_I knew it_ Aiden thinks over and over as he follow’s Wick’s Aura across the sewers. The stench would be almost unbreathable if he wasn’t so focused on the image of stabbing the manipulative Will Bender through the heart. Why would he run though? It seems he should have gone with the charade till a more opportune moment.

 

Perhaps this _was_ that moment. Despite Aiden’s fantasies that Jay would stay completely still, not getting involved what-so-ever he knows for a fact he’s halfway through that collapsed doorway by now. He looks back, considering. Wick would most likely be going to some other entrance to warn the populace. If he doesn’t stop him Jay will never get through.

 

He hears a shuffle. Looking back down the tunnel Wick stands half-concealed around a corner, grinning.

 

“So is it safe to say I knew you would follow me? I mean I know you don’t like being predictable but I can’t help that.” He calls, every word a different beat than before. The silvery persuasion is gone.

 

“I could say the same about you,” Aiden calls back, sprinting toward him. Wick vanishes around the corner, the sound of footsteps ascend. There is another entrance. Of course.

 

Aiden darts into a small room of stone stairs, following Wick’s feet upward. The space is bare, free from anything that could be flung to slow him down. A door slams shut. He arrives a half a second later at the eroded wood, spending little time smashing it to pieces with one stab of a sword.

 

He doesn’t see Wick anywhere in the room. It is hard not to notice him obnoxious and grinning. But now there is just silence. He steps farther into the room, feet crushing broken splinters.

 

Then there is the noise, the loud screeching of alarm. He growls, the sound as unbearable as always. He leans against the wall, covering his ears, sinking as the sound grows louder than before. There is envy he had for Jay being able to stand such a thing.

 

After another long couple of seconds the screeching cuts off. Wick jumps from somewhere up above, a rafter? Aiden, with throbbing ears and a numbed brain didn’t care at the point.

 

“You just can’t get a break from these can you?” Wick says, gesturing to a small device similar to Damien’s. He pulls earplugs out, “Annoying as all Hell.”

 

Aiden pulls his way up, vision blurry. He manages to keep his eyes steady on Wick standing a good distance away, “I’m guessing you’re going to rationalize yourself now.”

 

“What is there to rationalize exactly?” Wick smirks, “I lead you here, incapacitated your powers…oh you’re asking _why,_ aren’t you?”

 

The older psychic was not in any sort of mood anymore. He is sick of this Will Bender. There is something, however, he could tell, about him. He has an ego. He could deal with that.

 

He takes a moment to sink back on the floor, trying to decide what weak felt like, what defenseless felt like. No, not defenseless, only vulnerable. There is a pattern with enemies with high egos that hate the likes of him. They relish weakness like some kind of irresistible scent. They always hunt for it.

 

“You could say that,” He answers after noticing a slight change in Wick’s expression. A smile slightly wider, only slightly. A step closer he moves. Good, he only needed a few more steps.

 

“I’m more curious on what _you_ think it is, Fox,” Wick says, “I mean you knew I was going to do something like this but you didn’t do anything about it. You decided to go on the hunch of Jay because…honestly I didn’t think you’d succumb to the persuasion of love.”

 

Aiden takes the time to lose eye contact with him, pretending to be ashamed of the choice. Although part of him _wants_ to be ashamed, or at least chastised. He shouldn’t have let Jay’s friendship with him go this far. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t need another war of who is more stubborn, more rationalized in their own thoughts. Aiden _was_ right about Wick, but there is always that outrageously small chance that he wasn’t. There is no going back on it. So he just has to deal with it.

 

Another step.

 

Aiden looks back, Wick is closer, just a little bit more. He speaks up, “I made the choice. Doesn’t make me wrong about you.”

 

“Makes you more of an idiot though,” Wick says, “I don’t…get Quinn’s fixation on you. But your ‘fixation’ to Jay makes little sense either.”

 

“Maybe in an alternate universe we hate each other,” Aiden says with a shrug, “And maybe you don’t exist. That would be a pretty nice world.”

 

“So bitter,” Wick chuckles. Another step. He continues, “Powers would probably help you at this point, right? Powers you won’t have in a couple minutes.”

 

Aiden didn’t know what the statement meant. Wick is close enough but he needed this, “And what do you mean by that?”

 

Wick crouches by him, eyes silver-bright. He speaks softly, “My boss taught me a new trick. Did you know these powers all come from the head? And mental is my specialty.”

 

Aiden watches him, his vision beginning to return, “Hey…I forgot to mention a big problem you have right now.”

 

The younger psychic chuckles again, “Really? What’s that?”

 

“I don’t need fucking powers to kill you.”

 

He launches off the wall, catching Wick’s neck and pinning him to the floor. Wick reacts immediately, rolling them both to the side. Aiden feels a weight leave his jacket, catching one of his batons in the air before it hits the side of his head. He yanks it out of Wick’s grasp, swinging back at him. Wick dodges, pulling the device from his coat. Aiden’s eyes flash to it, whipping the baton at Wick’s leg, grabbing his wrist as he falters, taking the device and throwing it across the room, hearing the satisfying sound of it smashing to pieces.

He faintly hears Wick curse, quick to rip from Aiden’s grip. He jumps through an open window into the hall outside. Aiden pursues, catching the collar of his coat and slamming him against the metal railing just before a chasm of broken up floors leading downward. With stuttering strength he manages to take a sword from his coat, the tip floating near them.

 

“So _what_ exactly did Quinn teach you?” Aiden asks evenly, “Maybe give yourself some karma before I kill you for all this.”

 

Wick watches the tip of the down, breathing slightly short, “I’d rather take it to the grave with me, Fox. Truth is that I would go after Quinn right after this. I would have killed him for everything.”

 

“There is really no point in trying to save face with me,” Aiden says, “I don’t need the sob story that you made up. Just tell me.”

 

Wick actually seems to be considering, watching Aiden with little fear. He doesn’t fear death. Something told Aiden he’s been asking for it.

 

The younger psychic begins to speak, but the words are cut short by a sudden, corrupting explosion above. Both look up, fire sparking and spreading into the hall. Another explosion.

 

“Jay!” Aiden speaks, remembering, barely registering the worry when he feels something grip his coat.

 

He sees Wick’s eyes fiery with hatred. He says nothing, but with one push he sends them both over the railing and into the floors below.

 

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Jay discovers halfway through his ascension in the stairway how much he truly despises stairs.

 

There has been only one guard on them. Not a very good one considering he was half asleep and the only thing Jay had to do was one hand motion to fling him down the insufferable steps he already climbed. The narrow space is an utter disaster, spewed with blown out pipes and dirty pieces of cloth or rotting wood.

 

He wonders, rather randomly, whose idiotic idea it was to have a hideout, for quite a number of psychics, in an area so pathetically unstable in terms of structure. Whatever makes this easier, he thinks. He’d rather get out with little injury lest Aiden decide to chain his ankle to the wall of the bunker for the rest of his life.

 

He finally gets to the top floor where he senses the Aura he’s looking for. Wick described it as best as he can to Jay, comparing the beat to gunshots. Jay just felt a series of staccatos layered with eighths and spastic rests in between that left him questioning Iraq’s mental state.  

 

Almost immediately he spots another guard, quickly ducking behind a cemented-on slab of concrete. He glances over, two men loitering about. One of them levitates a couple bullets.

“How long are we posted here?” Bullet man asks in a low, whining voice.

 

“Another couple hours,” The other says, busy sharpening a wickedly curved knife with elongated scraps. His voice was very unamused.

 

A scoffing noise escapes the bullet man, “I’m bored as fuck, man.”

 

“And that’s my problem?”

 

“Yeah, cuz you’re standing here with me.”

 

“We could have it be just me instead if you feel like getting stabbed.” Knife man’s voice was neither serious nor joking.

 

“I’m just sayin’,” Bullet man leans against the wall, “Since when is Iraq so jumpy?”

 

“Since Wick pulled that charade at Blume. What do you think?”

 

“You actually believe that?”

 

“Why else would he be like this? And you know that they hate each other.”

 

Jay leans heavily against the slab. Wick ran away from them, and now they are saying he was involved with the reveal of a psychic’s weakness. He felt stupid, unnaturally so. He wanted desperately to believe Wick. There was just something about him that made him think he was more than he actually was. Maybe he just wanted to prove Aiden wrong. Whatever it was…he has made a mistake.

 

He knows Aiden went after him, and Aiden wouldn’t die easily. He looks back over at the two men, pulling the partisan from his back. He has trained very little with it but he could manage.

 

He takes a breath before launching over the slab, the shouts of surprise from the two getting cut short by zapping electricity. Another man runs, getting one shot off before Jay flings him into the closest wall. Twice more to be confirmed unconscious.

 

As he stands in the silence he touches a small sliver of blood blooming on his sleeve. The bullet had sliced it.

 

“Well there goes being unhurt…” He mutters, completely energized as he heads forward, “He’ll get over it.”

 

He reaches the end of the hall, a locked door. His grip tightens on the partisan, stabbing it into the lock and prying with off. When he enters his partisan slams into a briefcase aimed at him. Iraq pulls away, taking a step back and pointing a pistol at him.

 

“…You’re that kid, that…” He looks to be arguing with himself, the grip tightening on the gun, “That purple-haired bitch got you in here, didn’t he?”

 

“Well he did part of the work,” Jay says carefully, “I heard that you aren’t the only asshole here.”

 

“I had nothing to do with Blume,” He explains all too quickly, voice rough and violent, “Wick set me up, led you along to _think_ it was me, tried getting me killed!”

 

Very distantly Jay remembers Clara telling him that Will Benders could possibly make themselves look like another in someone’s head. It made sense now. Who his father had seen, it was never Iraq.

 

He looks up, “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re in the same group as him. You’re after me.”

 

“Yeah…I am aren’t I?” He slowly lowers the gun, only to lash out, slamming the gun on the side of his head. Jay staggers, dropping the partisan just as he is slammed against some sort of control system, the gun at his jaw.

 

Iraq glares, “You don’t know how much I want to pull the trigger right now. You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass.”

 

“Not my fault people love me,” Jay challenges, eyes darting to the partisan on the floor.

 

“Love you? People _hate_ you. People want you dead. Maybe I’ll do that.”

 

Jay hears a click.

 

“Fuck you, I’m not getting shot again,” Jay snaps his fingers, the partisan, flinging back toward him. He knocks the gun away, electricity zapping through him. Iraq falls on a knee, twitching from the shock. Jay moves forward, pointing the partisan at him. Iraq’s head snaps up, flinging the gun to him and shooting blindly. Jay stabs the blade through his chest at the same time. He stumbles back at the sound of sparks, ripping the partisan out spattered in blood. He sees just faintly the control panel.

 

“Oh shit—“ He darts to the door, just turning out of it when the explosion hits.

 

His hearing snaps, deliriously he runs down the hall, remembering the barrels, the artillery, flammable things. Lots of flammable things. Another explosion.

 

He skids to a stop on a higher balcony, seeing a quick glance of purple hair. He sees Wick pinned against the railing, Aiden holding him at sword point just before both roll over and down the collapsed floors.

 

“Aiden!” Jay shouts just as a third explosion hits, far too close.

 

He is blow straight off, in slow motion he falls. Two beats…no…three.

 

Then he remembers how to slow his fall, rolling roughly over debris. He lifts his head, seeing two forms ahead within the growing smoke.

 

Aiden is motionless, scratches against him. Wick leaning over him, a hand on his head, eyes closed.

 

“Aiden…!” Jay scrambles up, darting to him, outright tacking Wick away, his hands taking his. There is a wave of numbness as he takes them, some rush of overwhelming energy so fast, a thousand different beats.

 

“Jay! Jay you fucker—“ Wick tries to pull away but Jay locks his grip, “No! No you’re going to—“

 

Another explosion, words fading, rubble collapsing toward them. Jay closes his eyes, feeling an Aura, like a violent hurricane close to him. The beat familiar, the _feeling_ familiar, like gasoline and rainfall.

 

Just like Aiden.


	15. Chapter 15

****_No wonder, you’re so stubborn_  
Nobody ever made you dig deeper  
No wonder, you got demons  
Everything you ever did is coming back around  
I can’t help you, if I’m weaker  
You took the honey from the Queen Bee keeper  
No wonder, you got demons  
Everyone’s got a choice this time around.

**Our Demons – The Glitch Mob  
(Inspiration: Aiden and his demons)**

When Jay wakes all he hears is white noise. A stinging, shrieking numbness pounds on his muscles as he pulls himself up. A stifling heat overwhelms his senses.

Then he notices that he’s alone. And everything is moving much, much slower.

He tries to focus on something, _anything._ He stands, wobbling. The first of his thought is to find Aiden. His _only_ thought is to find Aiden.

He looks around, locking onto him instantly, his form unconscious, half underneath rubble. There is nothing more important than him now, and he runs, at least he thinks he’s running. The world is moving as if they are underwater, fading in an out.

“Aiden!” He speaks, but doesn’t hear himself, kneeling by the older psychic and shaking him. After nothing comes in response he looks up at the rubble, trying to push it away, forgetting in the heat and dream-like slowness that he could lift them easily. Senselessly, he pushes and pulls at rocks and wood.

Distantly, there is someone calling his name, around him he hears a roaring crash despite making no progress freeing Aiden. He feels his legs give out, the voices pounding him onto the ashy floor, he squeezes his eyes shut. After a moment, the noise ceases.

He opens his eyes, and everything snaps back into focus.

Coughing, he plants a hand on the floor, pushing himself up. He sees Aiden first, sprawled in the same position, but the rubble is no longer there. Looking out, an entire wall is collapsed before them, as if a tornado ripped it apart in seconds.

“Wha…” is all Jay could successfully speak, his vocal chords shot.

A moment later his arm is seized, his back hits a still-standing support beam, Wick’s bright, vicious eyes staring at him. He’s covered in ash and dirt, clothes torn and spotted with blood. When he speaks his voice is shaking, staggered in anger, “Do you have any fucking idea what you’ve _done?”_

Jay could just now start to hear his own tired breathing, shaking his head in response. The Will Bender turns him toward the massive hole in the wall, “You know who did that? It was you!” He shoves him on the ground, racking his hands through his hair, “You didn’t even notice! But I know some people who _did.”_

Jay looks over at the space just moment ago towering with rubble, “I…did that?”

“Yes!” Wick growls, “Yes you did!”

“How?”

Wick stares, his breath stuttered. His eyes dart behind them, then back, grabbing part of his jacket and pulling him outside. Jay rips away only to get grabbed again, he tries to summon his power but it’s muddled, unfamiliar. The feeling and the rhythm foreign to him.

“Will you stop? I have your damn Fox,” He gestures to Aiden floating with them, his skin pale and body limp, “I can also tell you he’s not dead yet, but he will be, we will _all_ be if you keep staling.”

“What is going on?” Jay asks, frantically, panic setting in from the lack of power in him, “I…I can’t feel—“

“Oh, don’t worry,” Wick speaks, his voice between laughter and pure bitterness, “You have all the power in the world now.”

Jay wants to struggle more, but whatever happened during the explosion was something it seems only Wick can explain. He lets himself get dragged along, the voices slowly beginning to return, images flying past him. Despite not knowing what they were, at least it is something familiar, the visions.

Minutes drag by as they shuffle through allies before Wick speaks again, “I’m sorry to disappoint you kid, but I’ve worked for the Club this whole time.”

Jay blinks, taking far too long to remember what the Club even was, then slowly realizing, “You…”

“Yes, I’m a dirty traitor, yada yada, ‘how dare you’ whatever,” He pushes him over a fence, following afterword, “My boss has been tracking the Fox for years, he wants his power.”

Jay swallows, feeling guilt in him, “That’s why you made friends with me, to get close to him.”

“Well, shit, you’re starting to get it,” Wick says, acidic, “He taught me a trick, a trick _you_ interrupted.”

“And what was that?”

Wick stops him at the end of an alley breaking back into the city, watching him with a suddenly steady gaze, “I took away his powers.”

The younger psychic stares, “You—“

“They were supposed to go to me, I was so close, then you came, you took them instead.”

Jay continues to stare, backing away till he hits the wall, looking back at Aiden’s floating form, “I…have his powers?”

“Yeah, but you don’t feel like it do you?”

Jay shakes his head.

“That’s because _his_ powers, the way he crafted them, you don’t know how to control. _You_ are not _him._ When his Aura went to you, you took a part of him, and now your own Aura is confused.”

“But I moved the rubble!”

“Why?”

“What do you mean _why?”_ Jay finds himself shouting, “I was trying to get it off…Aiden…” He looks over at the older psychic, “I was trying to…protect him.”

“That’s something both Auras can agree on, right?” Wick’s voice is softer now, his eyes blank, contemplating, “…I’m going to help you.”

Jay looks up at him, his own eyes skeptical.

“…I forgot what it feels like to have someone to protect,” He says, slowly, seeming unsure himself, “Maybe this will give me some solace.”

Jay glances away from him, listening to the voices lingering in his head. A single voice is louder, forceful in his mind.

It speaks out loud. From his own mouth, “That’s bullshit.”

Wick stares, surprised, “…What now?”

“I’m saying it’s bullshit. You only care about yourself. I guess I should be impressed. But I’m not.” Jay blinks, swallow as if the voice was a disgusting medicine that refused to go down. What got into him? That wasn’t him.

Wick watches for a long moment, “…I fucked up, kid. Twice. Quinn isn’t going to let me live. Might as well jump onto the good side as a over-glorified “fuck you”.”

Part of him is bothered by the response, but another half of him respects the ambiguousness of his morality, a side Jay could not figure the origin of. Regardless he knew he must continue on or neither of them are going to live.

“Alright…fine. Help me.”

The Will Bender nods, “Alright then. Follow me.”

They follow the steamed alleys overheated by machine parts. It is just past twilight, or it may not be…Jay could not tell through the colors that pass his vision.

“…I’ve never had so many visions,” He says quietly, not really sure if he actually has said it.

“That’s because you are overpowered now,” Wick looks over with impatient eyes, “Your Aura is trying to filter the new power into something familiar, which means more visions. It’s better than breaking the concrete with every step you take at least.”

_I’d love to break some things around this fucked up place._

Jay shakes his head, the thought coming from nowhere. He disregards it, happy its just visions.

When they get to a broken up parking lot Wick stops in his tracks, “…You feel that?”

Jay stops as well, listening, feeling, a creeping aura reaching its crescendo. Along it was some…off-hinged laughter.

He looks up at the roof above them, eyes widening, _“Wick…!”_

Wick turns, a disrupting shot slicing the air between them. Then came the slow motion, that horrible emphasizing rhythm absent from time as Wick wraps an arm around his stomach, collapsing entirely.

_He deserves it for what he did to us, really._

Jay runs to the Will Bender, kneeling by him, blood staining the cracked asphalt. Strangely enough Wick laughs, its willowed and weak, “Fuck—they work fast. Damn.”

“Wick—you bastard you aren’t going to make it—what can I do? You have to reverse what happened!”

Wick looks up, both of them sensing the same growing force toward them. His eyes move back to Jay, watching him before laughing again.

“You’re mind…I can feel it cracking, kid.”

“W-what? Stop _laughing!_ I need you to help me!” He peels off his jacket pressing it against the gapping wound in his stomach.

_The longer we stay here the better chance we have of ending up like him._

He looks over at Aiden, now curled on the ground without Wick’s concentration, then back. Whatever voice speaks to him is right. But he couldn’t just leave Wick to die. He couldn’t…

“You can…” Wick says, reading his thoughts, there is something in his eyes, they are grinning eyes, “…Actually...take me with you, kid.”

“Good, I just have to figure out how to lift you—“ He jumps as Wick grabs his hand, crying out as he pulls himself up, his other hand taking the back of his neck, “What—are you _doing?”_

He feels a rushing adrenaline in his veins, Wick’s Aura fading from his body, creeping toward him, pricking at his blood. He hears off hinged laughter.

“There is something in you, kid, and if I have to die, I’m leaving a game changer behind—“ He growls, it fading into a laugh, mixed with the voice in his own mind “So I give you… _everything.”_

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

“Do we really need to send _this many_ for one kid?”

It is almost comical to the man the amount of backup they need. As far as he heard the kid they are after is moving slowly, weak and young, while the Fox is completely out of commission. Yes, they have to bring the kid to Quinn alive but it sounds like they could throw rocks and even _that_ is overkill.

“Wick failed. The Visionary got the Fox’s powers.” One of his comrades pointed out, “Shit might hit the fan real fast.”

“That kid can’t possible handle the Fox’s powers. At least not enough to take us all out.”

It is true enough, and they are closing in on the target. There is a muddled Aura, no doubt for what Wick did. One of the snipers said they took him out, but he went silent afterword.

When the car stops the energy seems corrupted by the damn energy. God that is annoying.

He gets out, moving out into the parking lot. The kid was just toward the center, seeming frozen, staring at Wick’s body. Bastard got what was coming to him in his opinion. The Fox was there too, lying unconscious.

He moves forward. Maybe he can save some bullets to the leg. Wick mentioned how stupid the kid was, stupid enough to trust him.

“Kid,” He calls out, moving closer, “Make this easy for us and get up.”

When the kid makes no motion he takes another step, “Alright, you’re not getting yourself anywhere.” He takes his arm just barely before he’s flung backward, rolling a couple times before stopping himself, standing, “Shit…”

He looks back up at a laugh he hears. It’s not a normal laugh.

“How _dare_ you?” He sees the kid stand, turning to him, “I’m afraid I won’t be going quietly…I won’t be going _anywhere_ with you…in fact…”

The man scrabbles up, backing toward the others as the ground cracks within itself, steam rising from breaking pipes. The kid, standing in the center of the flowering destruction, smiles, blood from Wick’s body setting on his clothes. His eyes are brighter than any psychic he has seen in a long, long time.

“I don’t think any of you will be getting away…so lets have some fun.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Clara turns the hover car sharply down a series of allies. She had…aggressively commandeered it from a man leaving a hotel.

“Fuck—“ Damien curses in the passenger seat, “They aren’t dying woman!”

“I told you I had a hunch.” Clara growls, darting back to the main road with little to no regard for other cars.

“A _hunch_ doesn’t warrant this—“ He curses again as the car breaks suddenly, “Now what are you…” he trails off, hearing humming thunder in the distance. Clara stares ahead, the people around hurrying past them as buildings in the distance collapse in on themselves.

“What did I say now?” Clara hisses quietly, rocketing forward, “I’ve never seen destruction like that…”

“Glorious,” Damien mumbles to himself, seeing another rumble erupt into a water tower, “What can that possibly be?”

“Nothing good.” Clara says, driving as fast as the car will allow across the Wards, stopping only when the road stopped, jumping out and immediately stumbling back, “Holy shit…that Aura…”

Damien twitches, the energy fogging the whole area. He moves out of the car, “...That is not any normal Aura…something has gone very wrong.” He moves in between buildings, screaming sounding somewhere in the distance.

A couple minutes drag by as they wander the wreckage, eventually coming across what looked to have been a parking lot. Though it doesn’t look much of anything now, most of the asphalt is ripped away, broken into shards splattered in blood, the buildings cracked and barely standing.

Clara finds the center, the only in tact area of the lot, surprised to see Aiden lying on his side, looking pale but breathing. Wick is a ways away, unmoving.

“He’s dead,” Damien says, though the tone in his voice is blank. Both of them already knew.

Clara kneels by Aiden, touching his face, “…He’s…Damien, I can’t feel his Aura…”

Damien limps over, not having to touch him, feeling nothing, “…That’s not good.”

“No shit! Where did it go?”

“Well. It’s gone.” Damien mumbles, “But since that shit can’t be destroyed…what matters is where it went…”

Clara looks down as he hears Aiden shift very suddenly, his eyes flicking open, the color diluted to a human green, “…Clara?”

All three look ahead as another thunderous sound hurtles across the area.

Aiden pulls himself up, stumbling, “…What—is going on? My energy—“

“Gone.” Damien says, “And considering the missing person…I think I know where it went.”

In half a moment Aiden collects everything in his head, _“Jay.”_ He runs forward, toward the stifling Aura.

“And there he goes,” Damien sighs, following though far slower, “Hurling himself into danger like a fucking idiot.”

**~WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW~**

Aiden has a hard time running. There is grogginess in his muscles that make him do so. The last thing he remembers is fighting Wick…there was an explosion…

He runs till he stumbles on rubble, catching himself easily on a broken wall, “Jay!”

A ring of off-kilter laughter catches his ears. He moves forward, within a building not completely destroyed. There are bodies, stabbed with shards of metal or shot by several bullets. This can’t be Jay. It can’t be.

“Aiden…!”

He turns, hearing his name in the shadows, “Jay?”

A figure pulls from a doorway, his clothes ripped, splattered in blood. He is smiling, the Aura on him he recognizes. It is his own…Wick as well…and then Jay.

“I really do detest that name,” Jay speaks, but it’s not a voice Aiden can recognize, “I’m Defalt.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to say about how long it took me to pull this out. Let's say that...it took me a long while to come up with something and leave it at that. Regardless I believe I have something to fuel me. Please leave some comments about what you think. Love you all :D

**Author's Note:**

> So there it was. I did think of more of this story but only if people want me to continue. It was certainly fun to write XD I know this was pretty long too and I don’t know if any of you like that, I usually can’t stop myself. :p  
> PLEASE R&R, it REALLY helps me, I’ll take suggestions, all that.  
> Love you all, ta-ta :)


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